


Tourney of the Queen

by zmeischa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fandom Kombat 2014, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zmeischa/pseuds/zmeischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years ago Robert's Rebellion failed after Robert Baratheon died of festered wound. For fifteen years Elia had been ruling in her son's name. Now King Aegon, the sixth of his name, is going to wed the fair Daenerys and to take the reins of government in his own hands. To mark that glorious event, lords and ladies from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms gather at the Tourney of the Queen. Who will find glory, who will meet love, who will be taken by untimely death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ELIA

“My wedding is coming,” Daenerys said.

Elia said nothing in return. Daenerys rarely wasted time stating the obvious. There was something else she wanted to say, something important to her – and unpleasant to Elia.

“Soon I’ll be wed. I shall stand in the Sept of Baelor, facing the King, before the eyes of the noblest lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms.”

If Elia didn’t know her son’s bride she could’ve thought that the next sentence would be about the dress. Or jewels. Or the crown. Unfortunately, she knew Daenerys only too well.

“Tell me. Elia, who shall walk me to my betrothed? Who shall take my maiden cloak from his hands?”

 _I knew it_ , Elia thought.

“You want Viserys returned from Dragonstone.”

“I do. He is my brother, he is uncle to the King, he must be present at my wedding.”

“Could you remind me, child, how Viserys ended up on Dragonstone in the first place?”

“It happened because the gods forbid the spill the blood of your kin.”

Elia had to admit that the argument _Any other rebel against the true king would’ve been executed on the city square, be glad your brother was only exiled_ was snatched from her hands rather artfully.

“It’s true. As far as I remember, though, the gods don't command us to invite all our kin to the weddings.”

She was hoping to make Daenerys angry, but the girl didn’t move a muscle.

“They don’t but I do.”

“You… command it?”

“Yes. I know I’m not a queen – yet. But I also know that if I ask Aegon he won’t refuse me. I simply don’t wish you two to quarrel, I don’t like him to go against his mother before the wedding.”

Elia heaved a sigh.

“That would be terrible indeed. Well, if Aegon is magnanimous enough…”

“He is. Still, if you believe that he can’t afford it, that the realm isn’t strong enough for such a gesture I shall not argue.”

_If in fifteen years you’ve ruled in Aegon’s name you haven’t managed to assure that the king might invite whomever he pleases to his own wedding without fear of the rebellion…_

“I believe the realm is strong enough,” Elia said calmly. “You may begin ordering festive attires for Viserys.”

Daenerys thanked her with a regal nod.

“Was that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Not all. Jon Arryn is dead.”

 _Today must be the Feast of Stating the Obvious_ , Elia though maliciously. She had even less wish to fulfill that demand of Daenerys then the previous one.

“May the gods rest his soul. Aegon shall miss him in the Small Council.”

“He will have to name the new Master of the Laws.”

“It’s a hard choice. Jon Arryn was wise and just, it would be difficult to find a replacement for him. What would you say about Tyrion Lannister?”

Daenerys bit her lip. Tyrion was her friend.

“I’ll say Tyrion would make a great Master of the Coins.”

One had to do justice to the girl – she had gained much from being friends with Tyrion, having long talks with Jon Arryn, borrowing books from Grandmaester Pycelle and playing cyvasse with Oberyn.

“But what shall we do with Stafford Lannister?”

“I think he’ll be glad to retire. After all, he had spent the last fifteen years trying to guess lord Tywin’s wishes, such mental strain would exhaust any man.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“That would be very kind of you. Of course, that’s for Aegon to decide, it’s his Small Council, but he has always valued you opinion.”

“How sweet of him.”

Elia smiled and stopped talking. She had no wish to make Daenerys’ task any easier. It seemed that Daenerys didn’t expect her to.

“I want Viserys to be the new Master of the Laws.”

 _Four years ago he rebelled against the King, and now you wish him to be the chief judge of the Seven Kingdoms?_ Elia thought. Naturally she couldn’t say it out loud because the late Jon Arryn, Master of the Laws, had rebelled against his King fifteen years ago.

Fifteen years ago Elia tacked the kingdom torn by war hoping it would grow whole again. She made Oberyn marry Cersei Lannister and sent Renly Baratheon to be a ward in Highgarden. She made Jon Arryn a member of the Small Council and appointed Benjen Stark to the Kingsguard. She let Mace Tyrell believe he was the one ruling Westeros. She put up with a lot of things, negotiated, lied and had dreamt about the time Aegon would grow up and she’d have no need to compromise. And then Daenerys grew up.

“Is that his petition, or yours?” she asked.

Daenerys tossed her head.

“Dragons don’t petition. I know what he wants and what he deserves.”

Elia also knew what Viserys deserved. A place on the Small Council wasn’t it.

“He’s too young. Dany, I know that you wish to remind me about all the kings, Hands and maesters who had reached greatness in the days of their youth, but all of them had a previous experience. Viserys had spent the last four years on an island not knowing what’s going on in the world.”

“I wrote to him regularly and sent him books, he knows enough,” Daenerys countered.

_What you mean is that **you** know enough. One - you don’t, two - you don’t know your brother at all if you believe that he’d let you rule the Small Council from behind his back. He’s no Stafford Lannister._

“Let me judge for myself – when I see him.”

Daenerys began to object, then thought better and smiled.

“Of course. After all, I think the Small Council can function without a Master of the Laws till after the royal wedding. And thus we shall show our respect for the memory of Lord Arryn - by not searching for his successor while his body’s not yet cold in his grave.”

_And, may the old gods and the new have pity on me, maybe you’ll talk to your dear brother and realize what a fool he is. When he was exiled you were only nine, you had a right to be mistaken in him. You are thirteen now, and you are a clever girl. Stubborn as a mule, but clever nonetheless. I shall hope for that._

“That’s settled then,” Elia said.

“Also he’ll need a wife”.

At first Elia was taken aback. Then she felt the hair at the back of her head rise with fury.

“What?”

“Viserys must marry a maid worthy of him and have trueborn children.”

Elia grabbed the arms of her chair.

“Dany, I have brought you up from the day you were born, I took the place of your mother, but now I want to speak not to a daughter but to a future queen. Viserys’ bastards are an ever-real threat to the children you and Aegon will have, remember the Blackfyres. Viserys’ trueborn children are a death sentence to yours.”

“Viserys’ trueborn children will marry mine.”

“Dany…”

“What if I’m barren? What if I only have daughters? What if, when my elder son grows up, I would have no daughter to be his wife?”

_What if your son has to marry some Dornishwoman? Is that what you’re trying to say, Dany?_

“You’re looking too far in the future. Who would your brother marry anyway? Margaery Tyrell is betrothed…”

“Arianne isn’t.”

 _No way_ , Elia thought. She had her own plans for Arianne.

“Arianne won’t agree. The thing Viserys did to Oberyn, she won’t even look his way after that.”

Daenerys smirked.

“Viserys did to Oberyn the exact same thing Oberyn has done to Cersei a hundred times. Or is your Dornish boasting about your free way of life merely an idle chatter?”

 _No, child, it was Oberyn who did to Viserys the exact same thing he has done to Cersei before_ , Elia thought. Oberyn had told her about the time he found the fifteen-year-old prince in his wife’s bed. “I whipped him first and fucked him after,” he said his eyes shining with mirth. “You raped him?” Elia exclaimed in terror. Oberyn laughed. “Trust me, my dear, no man can say Oberyn Martell took him by force. And no woman either. I fucked him. I only meant to whip him at first, but the little bastard enjoyed it so much I just had to find out whether he’s like the next course. And the boy proved to be no disappointment.” He poured himself some wine and continued. “One thing I can say about Viserys. He has no heart and no brains, but he does have a great ass.”

“Your brother got a married woman with child, admitted that the child was his, and all the three of them are still alive. I don’t believe it would be possible in any kingdom except Dorne. That’s not what we were talking about, though. Arianne won’t agree, trust me on that.”

Daenerys thought for a moment, then nodded.

“It can wait. There will be a hundred lords with unwed daughters coming to the wedding, Viserys would only have to choose. After all, in several moons he’ll become the most desirable bachelor in Westeros.”

 _And may the old gods and the new have mercy on the maids of Westeros_ , Elia concluded silently.

She waited till Daenerys left the room and closed her eyes. You are not my daughter, she thought. Her daughter was dead. The day when the Lannisters’ host stormed the capital, as the blood of the Mad King was cooling on the floor of the Great Hall, as Robert Baratheon was dying of gangrene and his brother’s body, barely more than a skeleton, was being lowered to the crypts of Storm’s End, as Elia shaking with terror was clutching Aegon and Jaime Lannister was fighting the Mountain – that day Raenys died. Ser Amory Lorch dragged her from under the bed and stabber her fifty times. Nothing could change that.


	2. CATELYN

“You don’t trust me, that’s the reason,” Robb said angrily. “You don’t believe I can rule the North without you. You think I’m still a boy.”

Catelyn patted his cheek.

“Robb, my dear, I trust you with my most prized possession – my daughters and my son.”

Robb gave her a blank look.

“So you’ve decided to let Bran go with me after all?”

“No, but I’ve decided to let _you_ go. Robb, the royal wedding is the biggest brides’ fair in all of the Seven Kingdoms, hundreds of lords will take their daughters, granddaughters and sisters there. And I’m letting you go alone. I trust that you won’t make a hasty or unreasonable choice, that you won’t lose your head because of a maiden’s smile, that you will make a profitable alliance – or that you’d have enough patience to wait for another couple of years. I trust that you’ll find good husbands for your sisters.”

Robb grinned.

“Don’t tell Arya that, or she’ll escape before we reach the Neck. Though if she and Sansa keep bickering the way they did this morning, I’ll be the one escaping them. How on earth do you cope with them?”

Catelyn barely restrained herself from laughing.

“You should practice on them before you begin to rule the North. Believe me, your bannermen have more whims and sulks then two girls, but you can’t leave them without cake or make them stitch as a punishment.”

“You’re a good ruler, Mother. And... a good mother.”

Catelyn felt her eyes stinging.

“Thank you, my dear. Go pack your things.”

She knew Robb would go not to his rooms and his packing, but to the godswood, and as she looked out of the window she saw him walking across the court, the little direwolf running after him.

Catelyn herself had avoided the godswood since the day Ned had executed Theon Greyjoy there. She had been horrified by the murder of the boy, but that had been Ned’s duty to the realm. But to spill blood in the holy place? At first she believed it had been Ned’s revenge to the old gods for letting him kill his hostage, then Old Nan told her something even more terrible: “He made a sacrifice to the weirwood. Children of the Forest and the First Men used to do that in the days when the old customs were still kept. Old gods are cruel gods, milady, they love blood. Now they’ll keep your family safe.” Catelyn didn’t believe her Ned could do such a thing, but since that day she’d avoided the godswood and didn’t let her children go there. To be honest, she didn’t let Sansa go there: Robb kept going to the godswood the way his father used to do, Bran climbed the trees there and of course Arya had to imitate the boys.

Catelyn and Sansa would go to the sept and pray to the new gods. Every day Catelyn would kneel in front of the statue of Mother and ask her to spare her children. Every day looking into the stone face she would think about that other mother by the Ironman’s Bay who had sent a grey-eyed merry boy to be a hostage and four years later got back his severed head.

She never asked Robb about his prayers to the old gods, never asked what he was thinking sitting under the tree at the place where his friend’s blood had been spilled. Robb and Theon used to be inseparable. Robb, Theon and Jon… Before taking the black Ned had sent his bastard to Greywater Watch, and Catelyn didn’t know whether to feel hurt or grateful. She was glad that Jon was out of Winterfell, that he wasn’t reminding her about Ned’s infidelity, wasn’t sitting at the table next to her children. But she felt sorry for Robb who’d lost both his friend and his step-brother. Also she couldn’t help thinking about the way it looked: Ned hadn’t wished to leave Jon in her care as if he was afraid she’d treat the boy badly. Catelyn didn’t know if she’d have strength enough to care about Jon the way Ned did, the way Ned would’ve wanted, and still sometimes she thought that her husband had entrusted her with the North, but hadn’t trusted her with his bastard.

She heaved a sigh and went to the pantry. What was the use of thinking about the past? And yet… If Ned had died four years ago she would’ve wept for him as a wife should and then she would’ve kept living as hundreds of widows do, and she would’ve come to terms with her loss in time. She might’ve married again and had a child or two while she could… She stopped and shook her head. She would’ve never agreed to be another man’s wife, there was no one who could compare to her Ned. But she’d live, remembering him with love, with gratitude, maybe with sadness about the little time they’d had – but not with this agonizing longing.

Sansa was playing with her direwolf in the passage. Catelyn stopped and for the umpteenth time felt surprised by the speed with which those pups were growing. It seemed that only recently Robb had brought four helpless blind things from his hunt, and now there four beasts the size of a dog, putting their noses everywhere, biting the chair-legs and growling fiercely when someone approached their bowls of food. Well, three of them would growl – Lady would just whine piteously.

“Where’s you stick? Where’s you little stick? Fetch me your stick!” Sansa was cooing.

Lady yapped happily, ran into the corner and came back with a half-chewed birch bough.

“Mother, did you see that?”

“Yes, I did. You’re teaching her very well, good girl. Would you like to help me in the pantry?”

Sansa pouted a bit. You could see that she didn’t want to stop her game and to go help in the pantry, but yet she did want to be a good girl and to behave in a ladylike manner.

“Of course, Mother. Can Lady go with us? She’ll behave, I promise!”

“She can.”

“Lady, come! And what shall we do in the pantry?”

“I want to check once more the supplies we are sending to the Wall.”

“To Father?”

Catelyn felt a lump in her throat.

“To all the brothers of the Night’s Watch, Sansa. But to your father as well, of course, he’ll be glad to know that we do our duty as Wardens of the North and help those who keep us safe.”

Sansa stopped and gave her a searching look.

“Was that the reason Father left for the Wall? To keep us safe?”

_He left for the Wall because he killed a boy he’d been raising since nine years old, and he couldn’t live in peace with himself anymore._

“Yes, my dear.”

“But why does he never write to us? Doesn’t he love us anymore?”

Catelyn grabbed her shoulders.

“Don’t you ever dare to believe that. Wherever your father is, whatever oaths he had given, he will always love you.”

Sansa sighed.

“It’s only… Soon we will go to the royal wedding, then we’ll come back, and Father won’t even know we’ve been gone. You say that he keeps us safe but how can he do that if he doesn’t know where we are?”

“He can. He keeps all of us safe, all the North, all of the Seven Kingdoms, wherever we are. Even when you marry and go to live far from home you father will still keep you from harm.”

“But he won’t come to my wedding, won’t lead me to the altar?”

“No, he won’t. But he’ll think of you and wish you happiness.”

“Think of me,” Sansa repeated. “You know, Bran doesn’t remember Father at all. He says he does, but it’s all fancy. Does Uncle Benjen look like Father?”

Catelyn thought about it.

“The last time I saw your Uncle Benjen he was Robb’s age. No, I can’t say they’re very much alike, but you could tell they are both Starks. Why are you asking?”

“Uncle Benjen is a Kingsguard. I will know him when I see him, right? I don’t want people to laugh at me because I didn’t recognize my own uncle.”

“Of course you will know him. He is the only northerner at court, you will know him at once. Try this jam and tell me if it’s any good.”

Sansa beamed. If she had her way she’d live on bread with jam, honeyed apples and lemoncakes.


	3. BRIENNE

BRIENNE

 

The room she was given in the Red Keep was awfully small and crammed. Every time Brienne rose from her bed she drew her head into her shoulders, afraid she’d hit the ceiling. Even such a room was given to her as a great favor, though: the royal wedding had so many guests that even the huge Red Keep couldn’t house them all, and lots of people lived in the inns around the castle or simply in the tents in the middle of the court. Brienne had got her lodging only due to her being a lady. 

To tell the truth, Brienne would’ve gladly lived in a tent like she did on the way from Stormlands. And, to tell the whole truth, on the road she’d be glad to eschew the tent altogether and sleep on the ground – during the warm summer nights she didn’t like to hide under the linen roof, she wished to look at the stars before falling asleep. After only two nights on the road Brienne regretfully moved into the tent, though: Renly’s men were quite sure that a woman lying under the sky was begging for company. If Brienne fell asleep looking at the stars she’d wake up because someone was slobbering her ear. And, naturally, lying in the middle of the royal court was out of question altogether. In the very best case she’d be stepped on five times a night. 

The servant girl bought her the basin and ewer, Brienne splashed her face with water, ran the comb through her hair a couple of times and like she always did in the mornings silently blessed the day she’d sawed off her thin coarse braid with her knife. 

“Dress, milady?” the servant girl asked timidly. 

As any self-respecting lady from a poor house Brienne had three dresses: the good, the old and the decent. The good dress made her feel like a tourney horse minus a golden bridle in her teeth. The decent dress made her look like a stable-boy dressed as a woman. The old dress was older then the decent one, but still looked rather new – Brienne put on dresses once a year, on special occasions, and they were barely worn. She’d spent all her time on the road to the Crownlands wearing jerkin and breeches, but Renly had made her swear that in the castle she’d dress and behave like a lady and to keep her word to Renly Brienne was ready not only to wear a dress, but to wear nothing at all. 

“Yes,” she said with a sigh, “the decent dress. And the small pendant.” 

The large pendant, a gold sun ornamented with lazurite, had been in possession of house Tarth for several hundred years. In time of need one could use it as a weapon. The small pendant, a silver crescent on a thin chain, had been given to Brienne by Margaery Tyrell. Brienne suspected that Renly’s betrothed was making fun of her, but Renly had praised the elegant trinket and that was enough to make Brienne always wear the small pendant with the decent dress. 

She broke her fast and went down to look at the putting of ropes around the tourney field. Prudence demanded she kept as far as possible from anything connected with the tourney, but Brienne had no idea what else to do. Stitch with Margaery and her cousins? Better climb the highest tower of the castle and jump off it. 

She stood an the ropes trying to imagine what it felt like to ride over the clean sand with the tilted spear while thousands of men watched you, took a step back and rammed into a man clad in armor. He swore in a raspy voice and pushed her roughly, so she nearly fell into the puddle. Were she in jerkin and breeches Brienne would’ve turned to him and asked him to behave in a more seemly manner, but she wore a decent dress which she had no wish to bath in dirty water. She turned and punched him in the face. Tried to punch – the ruffian caught her hand in the air, and the next moment Brienne fell into the puddle face first. 

She rolled to her back at once. A huge man with a terribly burned face was standing over her wearing a lop-sided grin. 

“Ain’t that Brienne the Beauty!” he said raspily. 

Brienne felt the dirty water drying on her nose and cheeks. Her decent dress was rapidly turning into a dishrag. The ladylike behavior didn’t bear mentioning. 

“Lady Brienne of Tarth, at you service,” she said at rose to her feet. “And you must be the Rabid Hound Clegane.” 

“But my friends call me simply the Hound.” 

“Do you have many friends?” 

Brienne passed her hand over her neck. It seemed that the small pendant had survived the bathing in the puddle without any damage. 

Instead of answering the Hound took of his cloak and proffered it to her. 

“Let’s go to my tent, you need to get dried.” 

Brienne stepped back.

“You’re a fool. There are three whores for every knight, and I’ll rape a wench with your ugly mug? If you want to stay in front of the court, wet all over, then stay, what do I care? If not – come, my tent is nearby.” 

His tent really was near. The moment he came inside he grabbed a jug of wine from the table, took a long swig from it and offered the jug to Brienne. She shook her head and hid her hands behind her back. The Hound shrugged. 

“More’ll be left for me. Now tell me, lady Brienne of Tarth, what did you do with your armor?” 

Brienne felt herself blushing. 

“Left it on the Sapphire Isle.” 

The Hound took another swig. 

“You are a shitty liar, Beauty. Everyone knows that you wear armor, fight better then most knights and promised to give your maidenhead to the knight who betters you in a fair combat.” 

“That’s not true,” Brienne mumbles blushing a fierce red. 

“And then you come to the tourney in a dress which looks like a saddle on a cow, and put some trinket around your neck. You do you know what I think? I think that your armor is hidden in your trunk, and that come tourney you’ll wear them and pretend to be a mystery knight.” 

Brienne wished the earth could swallow her. The armor was hidden in Renly’s trunk, not hers, and the mystery knight had been his idea. When Brienne had agreed to it, she had no idea the first drunkard she met would see through her. 

The Hound behaved as if he didn’t see her commotion. 

“Joust or melee?” 

“Melee,” Brienne answered reluctantly. Renly would’ve preferred jousting, he believed it was more elegant, but Brienne had thought that melee left her more chances to remain unrecognized.

“And what will you do if you win? Ask to be knighted? Or maybe you’re hoping to become a Kingsguard?” 

“You hit me today even though you saw I was a woman. If you can be a knight, so can I.” 

The Hound gave her an appraising look. 

“I didn’t see you were a woman. What I saw was your fist approaching my jaw. And you, I guess, believe that the knights always defend the helpless and guard the virtue of maidens? Like in songs?” 

“Yes, like in songs! The ballads of chivalry sing about the best, the noblest feelings of the human heart! Only a coward and the blackguard can deride it!” 

The Hound put the jug on the table. 

“My, my, my, ain’t we passionate,” he said in a mocking tone. “Do you know who Ser Gregor Clegane was? What do your songs say about him? A noble knight, mighty as a fucking mountain, wanted to kill a woman and a babe, only Jaime Lannister stabbed him with his sword – the same sword he killed the king with. Some ballad that would make. A knight’s not a noble fool in ribbons, a knight is a killer, and if you want to make a man a killer, you don’t pour seven oils on him, you don’t speak pretty words, you give him a weapon and send him to kill. That’s what I told lord Tywin when he wanted to knight me”. 

Brienne had heard a thing or two about Tywin Lannister. She suspected that lord Tywin didn’t have a lot of respect for ballads of chivalry, but it seemed to her that he had even less respect for the squires explaining their ideas of chivalry to him. 

“And was did Lord Tywin say to you?” 

The Hound hemmed. 

“He said that Cleganes were a knightly house, and that I could refuse the keep and the lands if I liked, he won’t force me, but that I could have them only as a ‘ser’.” 

“And what did you do?” 

The Hound grabbed the jug again. 

“My grandfather was a kennelmaster to Lord Lannister, not this one, the one before him. Saved his life on the hunt, lost his leg, but got the keep and the lands. My father was a fool, my brother was a fucking bastard, but my grandfather did me no wrong so I couldn’t just throw his inheritance away. I swallowed my pride, washed it down with Dornish red and knelt in front of lord Tywin so he’d make me a ‘ser’. Only it feels like my pride is stuck in my throat and no matter how much wine I pour there, nothing seems to help.” 

Brienne longed for a breath of clean air. She had known the Rabid Hound Clegane only by hearsay: people were saying that he knew neither fear nor pity, that in all the Seven Kingdoms there wasn’t a taller or stronger man, that you couldn’t look at his face without disgust. He was really tall, slightly taller than even Brienne, his race did really bear the evidence of a bad burn, but a man who knew neither fear nor pity would’ve hardly taken an unknown maid to his tent to spare her the humiliation of appearing in a wet dress in front of everyone. The hearsay told nothing about the worst thing in him: he had betrayed something he believed in and hadn’t managed to convince himself it was the right thing to do. Being next to him was unpleasant. 

“And, as the head of my knightly house,” he said with a lopsided grin, “I need to take a wife and to produce some heirs. And my wife must be obedient, with a good dowry, with wide hips, and preferably blind. Do you know where can I get me one?” 

Brienne shook her head silently. 

“Well, neither do I. No matter, I saw the Frey banner this morning, they have loads of unmarried wenches, those bastards. I’ll just finish my wine and go find me a wife.”


	4. VISERYS

Vivy was whimpering piteously. Viserys took her, kissed her wet cheek, made his fingers look like rabbit’s ears, but the girl kept whining. Viserys gave the dry-nurse a displeased look.

“Now don’t just stand here, amuse her, make her stop crying. Or call the maester already, she’s been whimpering since Dragonstone.”

The dry-nurse curtsied.

“I already did, Your Royal Highness, the first thing I did after we entered the castle I called the servant and told him to go bring the maester, this is Prince Viserys’s daughter, I told him, let the maester look what’s the matter with her, if she’s healthy, why she cries so.”

“And what did the maester say?”

“He said that Visenya was missing her mother, Your Royal Highness.”

Viserys lifted his eyebrows with disdain.

“Maester Pycelle is an old fool.”

“As you say, Your Royal Highness.”

“Do whatever you want but make her stop that whining. Dragons don’t whimper, right, Rhaella?”

“Right!” Rhaella exclaimed belligerently. “Vivy, shut up, or you’ll wake the dragon and I’ll give you something to cry about!”

Vivy sniffed and put her thumb into her mouth. Viserys smirked. Four-years-old Rhaella was fierce like a true dragon, even though her mother, Euron’s present, hadn’t been very strong-willed. Viserys liked obedient women.

“If she still cries when I come back you will feel the wrath of the dragon,” he promised to the dry-nurse and left the nursery.

He had been given a paltry five rooms in the Red Keep, anything to humiliate him. Dany had promised to give him Maidenvault after the wedding, and Viserys had been dangerously close to waking the dragon – did she take him for a maid?! – but the Kitchen Castle, offered by the Dornish bitch, had pleased him even less. Finally he reluctantly agreed to take the Maidenvault where he and Dany used to live in their childhood, but the Dornish bitch insisted he didn’t move there till after the wedding. Probably she was worried about Dany’s virtue. Viserys smiled smugly. Of course he would have nothing against taking Dany’s maidenhead, he had more right to it then Aegon had, and she’d be happier in _his_ bed. Were there any justice in this world…

He went along the passage in spite of himself listening to the absent footsteps behind his back. On Dragonstone two armed knights used to follow him wherever he went. At first he used to scream at them, demand they leave him alone, try to take their weapons by force, promise he’d burn them alive when he became King, offer them money, then he named them his Kingsguard and resigned himself to their presence. After his return from the exile he had expected to be assigned a real Kingsguard, but the Dornish bitch had taken that honor from him at well.

“Look who’s here,” said a soft purring voice, and Viserys felt a hot wave rising up his spine even before turning. Oberyn had been his first weakness, his first passion. Obedient blond women and cruel dark men…

“Long time no see,” he said with an indifferent smile. “Did you come for the wedding?”

“Naturally.”

“Alone?”

Oberyn bared his even white teeth in a grin.

“Oh, no, why would I do that? I have Ellaria with me. Do you know Ellaria? Oh, no, you don’t, that happened after your unforgettable visit to Dorn. I’ll introduce you later.”

Viserys felt his arousal change into fury. Dornish bitch hadn’t allowed Cersei and Rhaegar to come to the wedding. They were in Dorne. He hadn’t seen his son for four years, and now the boy was in Dorne.

“Isn’t Cersei with you?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Cersei?”

“Surely you remember, Tywin Lannister’s daughter, golden hair, green eyes, used to be married to you.”

“Still is.”

“But you have Ellaria with you at the royal wedding.”

“I always have Ellaria with me, why should the royal wedding be any different?”

Viserys turned abruptly and walked away. Oberyn laughed behind his back.

“Cersei isn’t with me, she came on her own.”

Viserys stopped.

“Did she bring the boy?” he asked without turning. He didn’t want Oberyn to see his face.

“She did.”

Oberyn came from behind and put his hand on Viserys’ shoulder.

“There are few things I like about you, sweet prince, but one has to admit that you love your bastard. Or should I say ‘bastards’ – people are saying that you intend to emulate Aegon the Unworthy and to make a child in each of the Seven Kingdoms. I heard that you managed to father a boy even on Dragonstone.”

“A girl”, Viserys corrected. Oberyn’s fingers patted his neck, moved higher and scratched his ear.

“Who’s the mother?”

“No one, a cunt. When Elia found out, she sent me three boys from Oldtown, boys don’t get pregnant.”

“How sweet of her,” Oberyn purred. Viserys felt an intolerable need to fall back into those harsh, strong, sure hands.

“Listen,” he said, barely controlling his arousal, “why don’t you, me and Cersei, like the good old days?..”

Oberyn bit the lobe of his ear.

“I don’t believe Cersei’ll agree, her little friend is a very jealous lady.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. As you’ve mentioned, the boys don’t get pregnant – and the girls don’t get each other with bastards. As for me, I couldn’t care less, just another Sand in a desert, but lord Tywin got his breaches into such a twist after Rhaegar that she doesn’t wish to make him angry again.”

“In that case maybe you, me and that Ellaria you promised to introduce me to?..”

Oberyn squeezed the back of his neck.

“My belt and I are ever at your service, sweet prince.”

Viserys felt he was loosing self-control.

“Now,” he whispered, “here, now, my bedroom is three steps from here…”

Oberyn laughed.

“What a tempting proposal. Oh, so very tempting. But I have to decline.”

“Why?”

“I fear I won’t be able to stop myself from killing you.”

Oberyn turned him around with a jerk and grabbed his throat.

“Do you think I forgot how four years ago you gathered the ships to take my nephew’s throne? Remember my words, little stinker. If one hair falls from Aegon’s head you’ll die a slow and painful death. Very slow and very painful. Pray that your king has a long and happy life.”

Viserys reached the bedroom on shaking legs, closed the door and let the dragon wake. His wrathful screech seemed to shake the very walls. Oh, were his father alive! In those days anyone who dared to threat the prince would’ve died in flames! When Father was alive, the Dornish bitch knew her place! She had taken everything: the crown, the wife, the home, she had sent him to the exile, she had humiliated him, crushed him! Oh, to kill her, to tear her apart, to burn her alive!

When the squire sensed something was burning and came running, the dragon was calm already, and Viserys carelessly let the boy put out the burning bed curtains. The squire was an offence as well – not the eldest son of a head of some Great House, only a great-grandson to Lord Frey – and if he’d appeared a bit early he’d felt the wrath of the dragon, but now Viserys was feeling too exhausted.

“Wine,” he said, “and a change of dress. No, not that, the black one.”

If everyone intended to treat him as a slave and a criminal, why put on embroidery and jewels? He shall wear mourning.

The squire brought him a bowl of Dornish red and nearly woke the dragon again. Luckily for him Viserys had time to look at the mirror and noticed how well his silver hair looked upon the black velvet. He merely poured the wine upon the boy’s head and demanded a bowl of Arbor gold.

He left the squire tidying the bedroom, went out, and at the very first turn saw a strange procession: a septa, two girls – one pretty, one ugly – and two dogs of uncertain race. Upon seeing him the septa bowed, the pretty girl made a deep curtsey and the ugly girl goggled at him and remained standing till the septa pulled her by the skirt.

“Good day, You Royal Highness,” said the pretty gild in a trembling voice. “I hope we didn’t bother you.”

Viserys assumed a dignified air.

“Do you know who I am, child?”

The girl blushed a little.

“You are a Targaryan, it’s obvious, but you can’t be the King, he is much younger. So that makes you Prince Viserys.”

Viserys smiled in content. He loved when people saw at first glance that he was a dragon.

“Let me, beautiful stranger, guess your name in return,” he said gently. The ugly girl scoffed loudly, the septa pulled at her skirt again. Viserys had a passing thought that were his father alive the brazen child would lose her tongue, and concentrated. Auburn hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones of the elder girl, the horse-face of the younger, modest dresses – some second-hand house – unfamiliar hairdos – the North or the Valley – and those strange dogs that looked like wolves, only their paws and muzzles were too long…

“Those are direwolves!” he exclaimed in amazement. “You are the Starks of Winterfell, and those are the real living direwolves!”

The pretty girl curtsied again.

“You guessed right, Your Royal Highness. My name is Sansa Stark, and that is my younger sister Arya.”

Viserys barely paid heed to her words – he was staring at the legendary beasts in awe.

“Direwolves,” he repeated. “I thought they were extinct like the dragons.”

“My brother found four pups during a hunt. No one knows where they came from or why their mother left them. You may pat Lady if you like, she won’t bite. That’s my direwolf, her name is Lady.”

“And my wolf’s name is Nymeria,” the ugly girl interrupted, “and you may not pat her ‘cause she’ll bite your arm off!”

The septa pulled her skirt the third time.

If Viserys had a real direwolf he’d rather call it Nymeria than Lady and he’d take pains that it bit anyone who tried to pat it. But the pretty girl behaved with a heart-warming deference, and the wild beast supposedly extinct with the dragons looked at him with the trusting golden eyes so Viserys condescendingly scratched the ear of the northern legend. If he had his own pet direwolf Oberyn would never dare to threaten him. No one would.

He decided that he had to buy a direwolf – Dany would give him money, surely. He needed only to choose which one – the fierce or the obedient. And that’s when he had a dazzlingly simple thought: why buy when you can get it as a part of dowry?

“Lady Sansa,” he said smiling as Rhaegar used to do, simply and mysteriously at the same time. “You wanted a look around the castle, didn’t you? Let me be your guide. Septa, I don’t think Lady Arya will be interested, you may take her with you, I’ll bring Lady Sansa to your chambers later.”

The septa pushed her jaw forward in a belligerent way.

“I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness, but Lady Catelyn entrusted me with her daughters for a reason, and one of the reasons is a don’t let them walk around the castle with strange men!’

“Uncle Benjen!” Arya exclaimed gleefully.

Viserys looked over his shoulder. It really was Ser Benjen Stark, one of the seven Kingsguards. Viserys had never liked Stark, he believed that a traitor’s brother had no place guarding the King, but now Ser Benjen’s appearance was very opportune.

“Ser Benjen, how fortunate! You see, the septa doesn’t let your niece to take the tour around the castle in my company. Why don’t you go with us and see that I don’t damage the lady’s reputation?”

The septa huffed indignantly but had nothing to object.

At last Viserys was happy. He was walking as the King’s heir should, accompanied by a Kingsguard, a fierce direwolf was trotting next to him, and a beautiful respectful maid, heir to the North, was going hand in hand with him, catching his every word. Viserys has always liked obedient women.


	5. ELIA

Once in an angry minute Elia had called Arianne ‘Viserys with brains’. This simile resembled any other of its kind, that is, it was faulty – Arianne, with her generous heart and happy disposition was worth fifty Viseryses. Still, both of them were deeply in love with the same two things: power and their own tempers. Viserys was adamantly sure that his constant hysterics were the wrath of the dragon. Arianna had no doubt that her habit of indulging all her whims was a hot Dornish temper. Both Viserys and Arianne were sure they were born to wear a crown. Both were very unhappy about the mercy Elia had showed to the companions of Robert Baratheon. And if Arianne still had neither made bastards nor attempted coups it wasn’t because she lacked the wish, it was because she didn’t lack the aforementioned brains. No wonder she and Viserys hated each other.

After the talk with Arianne Elia felt as if she’d spent several ours hacking wood – with a very quick-tempered ax. When Tyrion entered her chambers she barely stopped herself from bursting into tears and running away – there was another felling of trees coming. For some reason every person around Elia had a difficult temper. Aerys, Rhaegar, Viserys, Aegon, Daenerys, Oberyn, Arianne, Tyrion – all of them were proud, strong-willed, hated to be told what to do, hated to lose, needed a special approach. Only Elia was allowed neither pride nor quickness of temper, she always persuaded, soothed, forgave and never took offence.

“Arianne had such a mysterious look when she was leaving you chamber,” Tyrion said in lieu of greeting. “Did you offer her to marry Viserys again?”

“My furniture’s in one piece so obviously I didn’t. If you really want to know, Viserys is going to marry a girl of eleven.”

Tyrion whistled.

“That’s what I call an original idea. Even Aegon the Unworthy didn’t think of that. And who is the happy bride?”

“Daughter of Eddard Stark. If Viserys were not Viserys I’d be truly glad: the North had twice supported us against Greyjoys, it’s high time we paid them back, in this manner or in any other. However, as Viserys _is_ Viserys, before the child flowers he’ll probably ’wake his dragon’ again and break her a bone or two or he’ll simply grow tired of her, and we’ll be indebted to the North even further.”

“Stark from Winterfell,” Tyrion repeated. “Does your nephew still believe he’s Rhaegar reborn?”

Not only Elia had neither pride nor self-esteem, it seemed she also had no feelings that needed to be spared.

“He believes he’s all Targaryens rolled into one, starting with Aegon the Conqueror and passing only Baelor the Blessed.”

“Give him a dragon’s egg.”

“Where would I find such a thing?”

“Elia, you’re such a child. It’s been a hundred years since anyone in Westeros saw the last dragon’s egg. Have a piece of colored marble polished and give it to him. And then send him to Summerhall with a flask of wildfire. A man who believes he’s all Targaryens rolled into one can’t help but want to play with fire. Better then waiting till he burns the Red Keep to the ground you should take matters into your own hands.”

“Don’t forget he’s Daenerys’ brother.”

“Which never ceases to amaze me. All right, you’re right, she’ll be upset, don’t do that before the wedding, wait a couple of month.”

Any other day Elia would’ve laughed, now she barely gathered enough strength to smile.

“Tyrion, I have to tell you… I had a letter from you father.”

Tyrion became serious at once. Each time Elia saw his face change at the mention of his father she wished to go to Casterly Rock, grab Tywin Lannister by his famous golden whiskers and give him a good shake. Today the wish was extremely poignant.

“He… I don’t know how to tell you that and not to hurt you. He wants to make Cersei’s elder son his heir.”

She expected an outburst of anger, but Tyrion only frowned incomprehensively.

“This can’t be true. When she had that bastard Father said that he had no daughter.”

Not only Elia wished to grab Tywin Lannister by the whiskers, she’d have liked to knock his head on a wall a couple of times.

“Nevertheless, he has two trueborn grandsons. Joffrey will take the name of Lannister and go to live to Casterly Rock. Cersei probably won’t see him again while Tywin’s alive. I can’t say Oberyn is happy about it, but he has nothing to say – Doran has three children, Joffrey’s chances to rule Dorn are slim at best.”

“You are going to agree to it,” Tyrion said baring his teeth. “Father wants to disinherit me, to steal what’s mine by right and to give it to your nephew, and you are going to agree to that.”

‘Yes.”

Tyrion rushed out, Elia grabbed his hand, he tried to break loose. Somehow it came as a surprise to Elia that he has such strong arms. Tyrion freed himself from her grasp, gave her a push, Elia lost her footing, fell on the carpet and choked on a cough.

When she came to her senses she saw Tyrion standing over her and staring at her from above. _He must rarely get a chance to look at women from that angle_ , she thought, then she decided that Tyrion often had the chance to look at _lying_ women, began to laugh and coughed again.

“You are not the Queen,” he said in a calm voice. “Aegon is the King, Aegon won’t let me be cheated of Westerlands.”

Elia struggled to sit up, pressed her hand to her lips and scrutinized the finger. No blood.

Since the day she exited the Sept of Baelor as Rhaegar’s wife Elia had never felt healthy. At first she used to blame Aerys, then the difficult childbirth, then Rhaegar, then her grief, but little by little she realized it was King’s Landing that was killing her by degrees, the sultry humid summer and the piercing winter wind. Last winter she began coughing blood and the maester sent by Oberyn declared firmly that the Princess won’t live till the summer if she didn’t spent the winter in Dorne. Elia knew she’d never be allowed to take the King to Dorne; leaving him in the capital and going away was out of the question, of course. She borrowed from the Iron Bank, had Summerhall restored and moved there for the winter. It had been a good deal, not every man manages to buy himself twelve years of life, but the debt to the Iron Bank was still hanging over the treasury.

“Tyrion, how well do you know the Westerlands you’re calling yours?”

“Want to try me? Ask away.”

“If it comes to the war between you and Tywin, which of the lords will be on your side?”

Tyrion thought about it. Elia used the pause to stand up.

“Lord Farman and Lord Vikary – those two hate Father and are waiting for an opportunity to stick a knife into his back. Ser Clifton. I might win Lord Marbrand to my side – Uncle Tygett was married to his sister. Westerlings, Yarwicks – those have nothing to lose and all to gain. Rabid Hound Clegane…”

He stopped.

“You see now, don’t you? It doesn’t matter whether Lord Tywin wants to make you his heir or not, what matters is that Westerlands, save a few disgruntled lords or impoverished knights, want the same thing Lord Tywin wants. You can’t win this.”

“I can if the King is on my side.”

“And how do you see that? Westerlands rise and Aegon sends his host there to make you the Warden of the West? Tyrion, you are not Viserys to flood the Seven Kingdoms with blood for the sake of your ambition.”

“You don’t know me too well,” Tyrion snarled and started towards the door.

“What if I offered you to exchange Westerlands for Dorne?” Elia asked his back.

Tyrion stopped.

“How come?”

“You asked me what I was talking to Arianne about? I suggested she married you.”

“And you’re still alive?!”

Elia heaved a silent sigh. Recently she’d begun to suspect that Tyrion’s feelings for Daenerys were not only those of loyalty, but she’d been probably wrong – a young man in love would’ve rushed out in anger at the first hint of marriage with anyone save the object of his passion, not stayed to find out more.

“As you can see. She likes you, Tyrion.”

“Oh, come on!”

“She has never regarded you as a possible husband or lover, but she likes you.”

“Ha! Arianne regards the statue of Bealor the Blessed as a possible lover!”

Elia smiled.

“People say that you regard with lust even the statue of the Maid. You see, you make a perfect couple.”

“And why would she couple with me?”

“She is Doran’s heir, after his death she’ll get Dorne – she and her husband. Almost any man she marries will try to rule in her place.”

“Any man but me?”

“You’ll be busy.”

“With what? Whatever Father says, whoring doesn’t take that much time.”

“You will rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

That caught his attention better then the possible marriage to Arianne. Elia had been ruling the realm for the last fifteen years and was yet to understand what made the power so attractive in people’s eyes.

“Tomorrow Aegon will turn sixteen, the day after tomorrow he’ll wed, and in two days after the festivities are over I shall resign the post of regent and the King shall name his Small Council. Varys, Lord Redwyne and Grandmaester Pycelle will keep their seats in the council, your uncle Stafford shall resign, Petyr Baelish will be the new Master of Coins, Viserys will be the Master of Laws, and you shall be the new Hand. If you become betrothed to Arianne and relinquish you rights to the Westerlands.”

That made him less happy then Elia had hoped.

“Viserys?!”

“You are not asking me about Petyr Baelish.”

“Elia, make your choice: either you make me the Hand or you think I’m an idiot. I know Petyr Baelish, he is you shadow Master of Coins and uncle Stafford just signs some papers. Viserys, though?”

“If you’re afraid of responsibility you may go to Dorne, bathe in the Water Gardens and chase whores there.”

“I’m not afraid of responsibility, I’m afraid to see the day when Viserys becomes responsible for anything.”

“Lesson number one: if you want to achieve anything in the Seven Kingdoms, put up with Targaryens. Or, of course, you can go to the Citadel and put on the maester’s chain, I don’t think your father would mind,”

Tyrion made a rude gesture.

“My father may fuck himself with a maester’s chain. Elia, why are you doing this? Cersei hates you. You suspect that Father sent men to kill you. Why are you on their side, and not on mine?”

 _I don’t suspect, I know_ , Elia thought.

“Lesson number two: if you want to become a good Hand, forget your injuries. Hate, revenge, greed, lust – all those are unaffordable luxuries for the man wearing the golden chain. Does Cersei hate me still?’

“You bet.”

“Poor Oberyn. May the gods not hear me, I’d rather be married to him than to Rhaegar she can’t forgive me those past twenty years”.

“Him and Jaime both. You took her crown and her beloved brother, she’ll never forgive you while she lives. Lannisters always pay their debts.”

Elia shuddered. She used to like Jaime Lannister, a handsome gold-haired boy sweetly proud to belong to the Kingsguard, but for the last fifteen years his name had revived only one memory: a white cloak covered with blood, a cut-off gold gauntlet next to a severed black helmet, dead Rhaenys in the next room.

“He was your brother too.”

Tyrion shrugged.

“Jaime died defending you and Aegon. The two of you are the only things I have left. And Cersei, of course, but she hates me. Upon my word, I’m ready to agree to your offer only to see the face she’ll make.”

No one knew how tired Elia was from being the only adult among children.


	6. SANSA

For the reception at the Great Hall Sansa wore her grey silk dress and the pearls Mother had given her for her name’s day. She nearly died with fright when she saw the gigantic dragon skulls along the walls: one of them was so immense that an auroch could fit inside its jaws. Viserys saw that she was afraid, called her his little fool and began to name all the dragons in whisper. During the King’s judgment Viserys was whispering in her ear: “Balerion the Black Dread, the last of Valyria-born dragons… Meraxes, she was killed by Dornishmen… Sunfyre, he tore Queen Rhaenyra to pieces during the Dance of the Dragons… Silverwing, Queen Alysanne’s dragon…” The King clad in mauve velvet was sitting on the Iron Throne in such a nonchalant manner as if he wasn’t afraid to get hurt by the terrible sharp blades.

After the steam of supplicants and petitioners ran dry Viserys took her by the hand, led her to the Iron Throne and announced that she was his betrothed. Everyone exclaimed with admiration. Princess Daenerys dressed in a blue silk dress embroidered with silver flowers came to her, kissed her cheek and called her ’sweet sister‘. The King went down from the throne, kissed her hand and said, “Tomorrow you’ll be my sister too”. All three of them, Viserys, the Princess and the King, seemed to Sansa the creatures of some other superior race, she looked into their amazing lilac eyes and couldn’t believe that soon she’d be one of them, that the King would really be her brother.

After the reception her real brother tried to spoil her mood and kept grumbling that he’d not given his permission to the betrothal, and that the Targaryens should’ve shown more respect to the Starks. Sansa kissed his nose tenderly and asked whether he wasn’t happy that she was going to be a princess.

“Now you must find a husband for me,” Jeyne Poole demanded. “I’m the princess’ friend now, only the most handsome and the highest-born in the Seven Kingdoms can suit me, right?”

The royal wedding was the next day. Viserys sent Sansa a dress of ivory silk and a necklace of moonstones. Sansa was very grateful because the wedding guests looked so rich and beautiful that it was hard not to appear at disadvantage in that elegant crowd. There was so much silk, velvet, satin, embroidery, lace, gold, silver and jewels that one went quite dizzy. But the King and the Princess Daenerys looked the most beautiful. He was clad in golden brocade woven with gold flames from head to toe, and the Princess was wearing a dress of silver silk. After the High Septon announced them husband and wife, he lifted a silver crown on a pillow of purple silk, blessed it and put on the head of the Princess – no, the Queen Daenerys now.

In the Sept of Baelor Sansa saw Elia of Dorne for the first time. The widowed princess was wearing black even at the wedding, and she wore only one ornament – a smooth silver hoop on her brow inlaid with three black diamonds. She took Sansa by the chin, looked into her eyes so hard as if she was going to predict her future and said, “Sweet child”. Her voice was surprisingly strong and beautiful, Sansa had trouble to believe that this small dark woman, brittle as a dry leaf, could speak that way.

For the wedding feast Viserys sent her another dress, rose-colored, and tourmaline necklace, and earrings to match it. Sansa tore herself from the mirror with difficulty, she looked so marvelous in that dress. Arya seemed a real slattern next to her. Sansa had wanted to lend her the ivory-silk dress from the morning, but the day before Arya had declared that she hated Viserys who was the reason Father had had to join the Night’s Watch, and Sansa lent the ivory silk to Jeyne Poole instead, together with a silver bow-and-arrow pendant. Father had had to join the Night’s Watch not because of Viserys, but because of Euron Greyjoy who had betrayed Viserys, but was there any way to explain that to silly Arya?

The King and the Queen had changed for the wedding feast as well: he was wearing a black velvet doublet embroidered with scarlet silk and rubies, she was clad in a transparent dress of red sea silk and a necklace of black pearls. Sansa decided that there was no other such beautiful couple at the feast – nay, in the whole realm. Of course, Renly Baratheon and Margary Tyrell were also very charming, he in golden damask with onyx arrows, she in green silks and a necklace of gold roses bestrewed with emeralds, but even they paled next to the King and the Queen. Then she saw Viserys stunningly handsome in a pale lilac satin doublet covered with large amethysts, and the whole world faded beside him. He smiled, called her ’my lady‘, Sansa gave him her hand and followed him obediently, charmed out of her wits, and only when a servant moved a chair for her she realized that Viserys took her to the high table, next to the King and the Queen, and that Robb and Arya remained down below.

She looked around bashfully. Viserys was sitting at the left side of the Queen, herself was left to Viserys, and at her other side there was a good-looking corpulent man in green. On his chest there was a gold chain made of clasped gold hands. It was Hand of the King, Lord Mace Tyrell. To the right side of the King sat Elia of Dorne, again in black, next to here there was a dark black-haired man who looked like her and had the same piercing black eyes. At his right side was sitting a beautiful woman with golden hair and green eyes, wearing a red-and-gold dress. Sansa bowed to her timidly, the golden beauty answered her with a disdainful glare. Sansa turned away and felt an indecorous blush on her cheeks. Surely that was Cersei Martell, the woman who had borne Viserys a bastard eight years ago.

Sansa was so embarrassed that she barely touched the first course, chestnut soup. The Queen gently asked why she wasn’t eating, Sansa was embarrassed further and diligently swallowed several spoonfuls of soup barely noticing the taste. But at the second course, roasted swan, she calmed somewhat and ate a piece of bird’s breast accompanied by the song about the Queen Alysanne. Then a great salmon was put on the table, and the bard was replaced by jugglers who artfully tossed up colored wooden maces, knives and even flaming torches. The salmon was replaced by rabbit in sweet sauce, and in place of juggles a fool came into the middle of the hall and started galloping back and force on his wooden horse. Then there were bright-red lobsters, and another bard sang about the love of Aemon Dragonknight to the Queen Naerys. Viserys drained his cup of Arbor gold in one breath and threw to the bard a purse full of coins. Then fat grouse were brought, and beautiful girls in tight-fitting dressed entered the hall and began to bend in half, to lift their legs very high, to cartwheel and to show other feats of agility. Oberyn Martell threw a purse at them, Lady Cersei pursed her lips angrily and looked away. Roasted venison was put on the table, and another bard, round-faced and rubicund, sang some lewd ballads that made Sansa blush again.

Then the dancing began. Sansa dance with Viserys, then with the King himself, again with Viserys, with the fat Lord Tyrell who moved his big body with surprising lightness, with both of his sweet sons, once more with Viserys, then she found herself next to Robb, smiled her most enchanting smile and asked, wouldn’t he like to dance with his ugly sister, and Robb called her ‘scatterbrain’, but danced with her anyway.

Then it was time for pigeon pie and the sweet things: honeyed apples, dates and figs, crowns made from almond pastry, and lemoncakes. Unfortunately Sansa had eaten so much at the feast that she couldn’t take a smallest lemoncake anymore, and that nearly made her cry with vexation. But then a new bard sang _A bear and a maiden fair_ and the guests began to cry, “Bedding, bedding!”

Someone pushed Sansa towards the King, but instead of tearing his clothes away she moved back bashfully. The King smiled an encouraging smile, tore his red-black sleeve and gave it to her. Then anything went wonderfully well: the ladies were laughing, making daring jokes and snatching pieces of black velvet from each other. Rubies were falling on the marble floor with a loud noise. Margaery Tyrell was asking something of a huge ugly woman with short flaxen hair, and the woman kept refusing, but when the King was left in his smallclothes the woman suddenly snatched him and lifted up. Sansa had never laughed like this in all her life.

The ladies demanded that Lady Brienne (that was the short-haired woman’s name) carried the King to his bedchamber, and she obeyed, though when someone pulled his smallclothes off she became splotched red with shame.

At the bedchamber’s doors the lords were waiting already. Viserys held the naked Queen in his arms and was kissing her much warmer then a brother should. Sansa stopped laughing all of a sudden and moved back. Viserys failed to notice her – he let go Daenerys’ lips only to begin kissing her breasts. The lords grew silent gradually and began shifting their feet, but then Oberyn Martell pushed through, snatched the Queen from Viserys, lifted her over his head and carried triumphantly into the bedchamber. Viserys cried wrathfully and began fumbling at his belt in search of his absent dagger, but then Uncle Benjen lifted him and carried him away over his shoulder.

Sansa was going to give the king’s sleeve to Arya, but Arya called her ‘show-off’, and Sansa gave the piece of black velvet embroidered with scarlet silk and rubies to Jeyne Poole. At least, Jeyne knew how to be grateful.


	7. VISERYS

Viserys’ heart was broken.

He had always known that one he’d marry Dany, had known it even before she was born – on Dragonstone Mother used to call him, put his palm on her bulging stomach and say: “If it’s girl, she will be your wife, that’s why you should take double care of her, as a brother and as a betrothed. Do you promise?” And Viserys promised. The day Mother died Viserys, overcoming disgust, took the bald, surprisingly heavy newly-born girl in his arms an announced that one day he’d marry her.

He took great pains to love Dany, and in time he succeeded, after her hair and teeth grew and she began to know him. Every time after a quarrel with Elia he’d come to the nursery, take Dany in his arms and ask: “You do love me, right?” and Dany would smile, showing all of her four teeth, and hug him by the neck.

Through all those years he’d considered himself betrothed to Dany. One day, in the foreseeable future, she was going to become a beautiful maid and marry him, and meanwhile Viserys would conquer women in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and then come back to the nursery where his little sister lived and give her presents: fretted wooden knights with moving arms and legs, Lyseni dolls with painted enamel faces, motley lacquer ducks form Yi Ti, a cyvasse set made of onyx and walrus’ tooth, a child’s harp with silver strings and a three-stories dollhouse with redwood furniture, golden plates and silk curtains. Once he had heard Dany say angrily to Tyrion: “I shall tell Viserys on you, he’ll come to my defense!”

All that had come to an end when Elia had treacherously locked Viserys at Dragonstone. Now it had been Dany who would take care of him, send him books, ruddy apples and melons wrapped in straw, barrels of Dornish red and Arbor gold, tortoise combs and rare incense, and also a cat with purple eyes and silver fur (as soon as the cat had been let out of its basket, it arched its back, spit in Viserys’ direction and ran away).

Viserys used to walk around Dragonstone, touch stone dragons, gargoyles and basilisks, look at the gigantic map which had helped Aegon the Conquerer to conquer Westeros, go into the sept where the statues of gods were carved from the masts of the ship that had brought Targaryens from Valyria and would think gloomily that he was the last of his name, the last pureblood Targaryen devoid of everything – throne, home, dragons – and only his sister-bride true to him. Then Dany had sent him a joyous letter telling about her betrothal to Aegon.

Were she near when Viserys had received the letter he would’ve killed her. Luckily they met only in two moons and by that Viserys had decided that it was all Elia’s fault. She, the Dornish bitch, had beguiled Dany, made her forget the duty towards her brother and husband. But still Dany had betrayed him, had married Aegon, had lost her maidenhead in his bed and now at the tourney she was sitting next to that pup, smiling at him, feeding him cheese, olives and baked snails with her own hands as if Viserys was still on Dragonstone and not next to her. Heartless bitch.

He looked furtively at Sansa. She’d managed to upset him in the morning: just went and asked why Viserys wasn’t taking part in the tourney. He hadn’t hit her only because hangover prevented him from making brusque movements. Barely holding himself in check he explained to her that he had spent the last few years in an exile where he hadn’t been allowed even the tourney weapon, and if Sansa _wanted_ to see him killed… Of course, she’d asked for forgiveness, and, of course, Viserys forgave her as a magnanimous knight should, but why didn’t she use her head for a change? Sometimes he suspected that the traitor blood in Sansa’s veins was unconquerable. But still Rhaegar had loved the similar northern beauty with hair the color of blood and eyes blue like winter roses…

“Would you like to be the Queen of Love and Beauty?” he asked in a condescending voice.

Sansa looked at him, her mouth half-opened. In the few days of his betrothal Viserys had received plenty of evidence that his bride-to-be was very dumb.

“Oh, of course I would, any maid would be happy… But this is the Queen’s tourney, no knight will dare to crown any other lady.”

Dany smiled.

“You are right, Sansa, you can’t trust people at court. Everybody lies, everybody dissembles, no one dares to follow his heart. You know what I will do? On the second day of the tourney I shall pin the star-clasp to my dress, and if the winner gives the wreath to any lady but me I shall give him that clasp as a proof that he truly combines all the seven knightly virtues in his heart. But hush, don’t tell anyone.”

“That’s female fickleness for you,” Aegon cut in. “Only yesterday she swore to love me forever and today she is already planning to reward another!”

 _Only yesterday she was my bride and today you stole her, damned pup, her and my crown_ , Viserys thought hatefully.

“Sweet brother, if you wished to be rewarded by the ladies why didn’t you enter the list and why don’t you ride today?” he asked venomously.

In his wrath he plain forgot about Sansa and was momentously flabbergasted when she spoke again.

“If the King entered the lists ‘t would be unfair to other knights. No one dares to harm a man of royal blood, and the Kingsguards must guard the King and his family from harm. So if you, Your Grace, and you, Prince, were to ride at that tourney no one would’ve dared to fight you as equals, as you deserve…”

Viserys was speechless. That traitor’s daughter had been his betrothed less them a week and dared to insult him already! Who did she think she was, little provincial idiot!

“Are you trying to say that when Prince Rhaegar won at the Tourney at Harrenhall, it happened because the other knights YIELDED?!”

“Naturally,” Elia said drily.

Viserys startled. He had completely forgotten that the Dornish bitch was sitting behind Aegon hidden like a little black scorpion, always eager to strike with her poisoned sting.

“Naturally people yielded to Rhaegar at every tourney,” she repeated. “Even a naïve child of eleven knows that.”

Viserys choked on a thousand insults, unable to choose the deadliest.

“Quiet, here’s Ser Barristan,” Dany said in an imperious tone. “Everybody look at Ser Barristan, the last of the great knights of the past. Bravo, Ser Barristan!”

Then Ser Loras Tyrell, son of the Hand, rode in, and one had to show respect, then Ser Benjen Stark, Sansa’s uncle, took the spear, then a mystery knight appeared in the lists and one had to try and guess his identity.

“And here’s Rabid Hound Clegane, let’s all look and the brother of childslayer,” Viserys said and was happy to hear Elia’s sharp intake of breath.

_What a pity the Mountain didn’t bash out your brains, Dornish bitch!_

The Hound unhorsed Renly Baratheon so hard that for a moment everyone believed that Renly’s neck was broken, but it was only the gold antler form his helmet that broke loudly in two. Viserys decided that the tourney was a success. The Usurper’s brother had no place at the Queen’s tourney! The Hound lifted the broken piece of gold, pretended that he was going to throw it to the crowd, laughed and gave the trophy to his squire. The crowd catcalled.

“That knight seeks no popularity,” Aegon said.

“And he’s right, one shouldn’t curry the favor of the rabble. I bet a hundred dragons the Hound wins.”

“Oh, a bet? A hundred on Oberyn, then. Lady Sansa?”

“I have no money,” Sansa mumbled bashfully.

“Is your father truly a Warden of the North, or are you a daughter of some village smith?” Viserys asked with annoyance. “I’ll place the bet for you, only give me the name and for gods’ sake think faster!”

“A hundred dragons on Benjen Stark”, Elia said dryly. “Don’t play with men, child, till you grown up. Dany?”

“So you consider me an adult? All right then, a hundred dragons on Ser Loras Tyrell. Lady Sansa, you shall be our witness. And let the best man win.”


	8. ELIA

The Hound unhorsed Oberyn. Cersei Martell clapped her hands mockingly, called her servant and gave him a tiny red purse embroidered with lions. The servant explained to Clegane loudly that Lady Cersei gave her thanks to him for upholding the honor of Westerlands, Clegane opened the purse and took the four gold coins from it for everyone to see.

Were Oberyn bested by someone else, Elia would’ve gladly given the winner four thousand dragons: since yesterday she’d dreaded to imagine what would happen if Oberyn wounded the younger Tyrell boy after he’d left the elder son a cripple. But the very name of Clegane made her hands shake slightly.

Loras Tyrell and Benjen Stark faced each other thrice, and three times both remained in the saddles. At last Stark broke his spear and the judges gave the field to Loras. Sansa was visibly upset but tried to keep up appearances and said graciously that Ser Loras was very brave.

Elia liked Sansa, the way one could like a fluffy kitten, a song-bird or a flower. Whenever Elia saw Arya Stark she felt as if she was about to cough blood, but Sansa didn’t resemble Lyanna in the least. Sometimes Elia had a spiteful wish to tell Viserys which of the two Stark girls really looked like Rhaegar’s true love. Maybe later, after their wedding…

Before the last joust Loras asked his adversary’s pardon for a small delay, mounted his mare, took an armful of white roses and slowly rode around, giving the flowers to the ladies. The single red rose in the bouquet was meant for Daenerys. Loras, followed by the sighs of admiration, came back and gave the last flower to Clegane, who shrugged and fed it to his horse. Viserys guffawed.

After the first clash both of them remained seated, but Loras’ spear broke with a loud crack, and the tourney in honor of Aegon’s Targaryen’s wedding was won by Gregor Clegane’s brother. Gods had a weird sense of humor sometimes.

Viserys, bursting with pride, took his winnings.

“Let’s look whom he chooses the Queen of Love and Beauty,” he said looking at Dany.

Clegane rode around the field and stopped in front of the platform where Renly Baratheon was sitting hand in hand with Margaery Tyrell. Elia was stunned. Some knight from the Reach with a head full of songs could’ve decided that the wreath of snow-white rose should crown the sister of his bested adversary, but such chivalry was at least unexpected from a man called Rabid Hound. But then he passed the wreath not to Margaery, but higher, to… For a second it seemed to Elia that there sat a man dressed in a blue dress, but no, it was a woman, very large and ungainly.

“Beauty!” the crowd yelled. “Beauty, Beauty, Brienne the Beauty!”

The woman gave Clegane such a look as if she’d gladly thrash him with the snow-white roses. Renly Baratheon told her something, though, took the wreath from Clegane’s hands and put it on the short flaxen hair of Brienne Tarth.

“Shame on him!” Sansa exclaimed indignantly. “It’s not the pour thing’s fault she was born so homely, why must her make her a laughing-stock? No true knight would do such a thing.”

Viserys, ever a true knight, was rolling with happy laughter.

Dany looked at her shoulder heart-broken. There proudly sat a seven-pointed star set in diamonds, each point ending in a precious stone: ruby, topaz, jacinth, emerald, aquamarine, sapphire, amethyst. In the center of the star sat a rainbow opal.

“Don’t be a fool,” Aegon whispered.

Dany glanced at him and rose.

“Approach, ser.”

Clegane rode to the royal platform. Elia bit the insides of her cheeks.

“You fought well, ser. I give you this star as a token of the seven knightly virtues happily united in your person.”

Clegane carefully took the star from her hands, turned it to the light as if wishing to take a better look at the delicate wok, and gently touched one of the points with his finger.

“Seven virtues, you say. Bravery, strength, loyalty, wisdom, justice, charity and chastity. Yeah, that’s me.”

He pinned the star to his cloak and rode away.

“What a horrible man,” Sansa whispered with disgust.

While the field was being prepared for the melee the King and his court had a light repast in the court where a table was laid. Rich lords and ladies withdrew to their chambers or tents for refreshments, poorer knight and women stayed at their seats and took out bread, sausage, cheese and other dainties stored earlier this morning. Sellers of pies, fruit and wine began to scurry about the crowd.

Elia barely ate a thing. Summer heat enwrapped her like a wet blanket. _It won’t be long now_ , she thought. _The melee and the feast today, the Small Council tomorrow, then one day to pack my things and to get the ships ready for sailing, and then I’ll be free. Oh gods, don’t let me die at sea. I shall feel better the moment we land at Sunspear, just don’t let me die aboard the ship._

She hadn’t noticed the moment Aegon disappeared and she knew that he was gone only after they came back to their seats. The knights put on their armor and saddled their horses, and the King was still absent. At last he appeared – mounted on a black stallion, wearing red-and-black armor inlaid with rubies, his visor down, his shield showing a three-headed dragon. The crowd applauded, and so did Sansa.

“Did you know about that?” Elia asked in whisper.

“No,” Dany answered equally in whisper. “I knew he had some surprise in store, but nothing more. Should I stop him?”

“Too late. Don’t worry, it’s safe, no one will dare attack the King.”

It was clear that the King was going to lead one party, Clegane was the captain of the other. The knights rushed to the King’s side, it seemed like Clegane was going to fight alone, but then a mystery knight rode to his side, a huge man with a shield bearing a tree and a falling star.

“Those are the arms of Ser Duncan the Tall!” Viserys exclaimed in amazement. “The gall of this man! Ser Barristan will trample him down, wait and see.”

At last the King had to herd half of the knight to Clegane’s side. He kept only the Kingsguards, Loras Tyrell, five of the ten Freys, Thoros or Myr and another mystery knight whose shield bore a jester standing on his head.

Elia felt none of the confidence with which she’d convinced Dany that Aegon was out of danger, but his position didn’t really look risky – four knights in white cloaks guarded him from all sides. Freys were either afraid to harm the king by chance or glad of the occasion to resolve some family quarrel, but they attacked generally each other. Ser Barristan, probably offended by the mystery knight’s shield, rushed at the man and after a violent combat found himself on the ground. Clegane inflicted the same on Ser Boros Blount. Thoros of Myr, brandishing his fiery sword, rushed at the adversaries, the knight of the Jester attacked the knight of the Tree and Star. Then things happened all at once: Clegane recoiled from the burning blade and fell from his saddle, the knight of the Jester collapsed on the ground and remained still, the King reared his horse and screamed.

The crowd took it for the call of triumph and answered with a discordant approving yell. Elia shuddered. She felt as if an iron needle pierced her heart. Aegon jumped from his saddle and ran to the prostrate knight screaming something as he ran.

“It’s Robb,” Sansa said in an uncomprehending voice.

“What nonsense…” Viserys began.

“It’s Robb, it’s his voice, but why?..”

Dany gasped and that sound made Elia go deaf. She saw the knight in red-and-black armor fall to his knees, she saw Viserys try to rise and collapse to his chair, she saw the helmet gently removed from the knight of the Jester’s head, and when silver hair fell from under that helmet Elia stopped to see, to feel and to know.


	9. TYRION

The Small Council had probably never been so crowded.

It seemed that Mace Tyrell was of that opinion as well, and, what’s more, he knew exactly who was the superfluous person here.

“Who… who named him the Hand?!”

“The late King, gods rest his soul,” Tyrion replied dryly. “He was supposed to announce it at today’s Small Council. Princess Elia knew about it, you can ask her.”

“If she’s still able to talk.”

“Listen, Lord Tyrell, you can’t seriously believe that I made it all up for a bit of lark, can you?”

Ser Steffon coughed loudly.

“His Grace did indeed name my nephew his new Hand, on the condition that I resign the seat of Master of Coins. As you see, my lords, it was in my own interest to say nothing, but I can not conceal the last will of the late King. As soon as you restore the justice I shall hand over my seat to my successor and leave the Small Council.”

“As the successor of Ser Steffon I corroborate his words,” Petyr Baelish said.

Mace Tyrell looked around, opened and shut his mouth several times and extended his right hand towards Viserys.

“Your Grace!!!”

“Ah,” Viserys stammered, “when I wa-a-a-as sixteen, you didn’t make me the Regent, though it was the fair thing to do, the just thing! I… dismi-i-i-is you!”

Mace Tyrell pressed his hand to his heart, kept this piteous posture for some time, then took the Hand’s chain from his neck and put in on the table. Tyrion reached for it. The clasped gold hands here cold as ice.

“I think we all agree to make Prince Viserys Targaryen the new Regent. No objections?”

“Regent?” Viserys repeated uncomprehendingly. “Regent? Why the Regent? Why not the King?”

 _And Elia wanted to make you Master of the Laws_ , Tyrion thought dejectedly.

“His Grace, King Aegon, sixth of his name,” he explained patiently, “was married, but had no legal progeny. In such cases it is customary to wait for a year to find out whether the Queen had conceived before she became a widow. If she has a son, he’ll be King and you’ll be his Regent. If she has a daughter, or the child is born dead, or there is no child at all, we shall crown you as King Viserys, third of his name.”

Viserys gave him a blank look. The Regent and possible King had looked rather worse for wear. For some reason he had not one but two Kingsguards glued to his heels, kept casting fearful looks over his shoulder, had eaten nothing for the last two days, as rumors had it, and looked like a man who’d gone hungry for a week. Tyrion threw a worried look at his hands, but at least Viserys still cut his nails.

“I… I wa-a-ant to know who did this”, he announced, jabbing his long forefinger at Tyrion. “I… wa-a-ant the kingsla-a-a.. the kingslayer seized and e-e-e…. executed.”

“The kingslayer?” Tyrion repeated. “One mystery knight killed another in the melee by chance, not knowing who was hiding behind the visor and the shield, and we are going to treat this as a regicide? I questioned Lord Stark personally, he swears that no one except him and the late King himself knew about that exchange of armor. Of course that mystery knight was a fool to run away, but I think that it was not an avowal of guilt but a fear of an innocent man at the sight of his unconscious deed.”

“Her deed,” Varys corrected him softly. “It wasn’t a he, it was a she. A woman, Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

Viserys inclined forward abruptly.

“A woman?”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness. Lady Brienne, also known as Brienne the Beauty and the Maid of Tarth, wields the sword and the spear excellently. I found the servant who had helped her to put the armor on. The other servant remembered bringing to her room a trunk, probably containing the same armor.”

“Bringing from where?” Tyrion asked trying to collect his thoughts.

“From Lord Renly Baratheon’s chambers.”

The silence was truly deadly.

Mace Tyrell was the first to come to his senses.

“Listen, you! Renly is my ward, he’ll soon be my son-in-law, and I won’t allow…”

“What a pity he left for the Stormlands this morning with all his people and can’t give us a satisfactory explanation which, I’m sure, would acquit him utterly,” Varys said in a honeyed voice.

“Baratheon!” Viserys screeched. “Baratheon and Stark! Baratheon and Stark! It’s them! Murderers! It’s them!!!”

“How remarkable indeed,” Baelish said. “The king exchanges armor with Robb Stark, something that presumably is known to no one but Stark himself. Renly Baratheon brings a woman to court, a woman who wields a weapon better then most men, and a suit of armor for her as well. And her shield depicts the arms of ser Duncan the Tall, who, as we all know, first rode at the tourney…”

Baelish paused. It seemed that not all of them knew the life-story of Ser Duncan the Tall, and Tyrion said reluctantly,“At the Ashord Tourney, during the Trial of Seven, the day Prince Baelor Break-Spear was killed.”

“Margaery!” Mace Tyrell exclaimed. “Where’s Margaery? If he took her with him, it was done against her and my will! I ask for protection for my daughter! Where is my child? Where is Margaery?”

“At least you don’t have to worry about her maidenhead,” Baelish quipped. Everyone except Viserys laughed in relief and Mace Tyrell ran out, presumably in search of his lost child.

“A-a-a-a… arrest them!” Viserys stammered. “A-a-arest them! Execute them! Tonight!”

Suddenly he went silent, moved his jaw from side to side a couple of times and said, “Sansa”.

 _Great_ , Tyrion thought, _at last he remembers that he’s betrothed to the sister of the man he wants to execute_.

“Sansa. When we were at the tourney, the day before yesterday, she said that people yielded to Rhaegar, that the king and princes are always… She told this to Aegon! It was her!”

“Lady Sansa,” Tyrion repeated. “The day before yesterday Lady Sansa said in the King’s presence that no knight would dare to defeat a king or a prince at the tourney? And after that the King decided to ride at the melee in other man’s armor?”

“I’m sure that Lady Sansa took no part in the conspiracy”, Baelish said in a soothing tone. “She is but a child after all. She could repeat some other person’s words without understanding their true meaning, but that’s all. And she loves Your Royal Highness so much! She will surely disown her brother when she finds out about his monstrous plot.”

“Yes, Sansa loves me,” Visrys repeated with a smug smile. He struck the table with his hand. “But the others must be arrested! Now!”

When a few hours later Tyrion came back to his chambers he found Cersei waiting for him.

Tyrion couldn’t remember the time when Cersei hadn’t hated him, but he distinctly remembered the day he reciprocated. After Robert’s Rebellion had been crushed Father was given leave to bury Jaime at Casterly Rock. As the body was being lowered into the crypts Tyrion and Cersei looked at each other and Tyrion read on his sister’s face the very thought that was torturing him: “Why did gods take Jaime and leave me with _you_?!”

“What do you want?” he asked sullenly.

Cersei smiled her most charming smile. One thing about her one had to admire was her beauty. After four children and fifteen years in the withering Dornish climate she was still fair.

“I just wanted to congratulate you,” she said gently and passed her finger over his gold chain.

Tyrion sighed.

“Cersei, I hate to remind you and myself, but I’m your brother, your tricks don’t work on me. What do you want?”

“As if I would ever try to seduce you,” Cersei answered derisively.

“That’ better. What. Do. You. Want?”

“I just wished to remind you that you are a Lannister and to make sure that you intend to act for the good of your family.”

“My family,” Tyrion repeated. “The same family that strives to disinherit me?”

Cersei winced.

“Father would never let you inherit Casterly Rock. Never. Do you think I mean more to him than you do? He sold me to Dorne like some pureblood mare. He hasn’t answered my letters in eight years”

“I’m all sad and teary-eyed.”

“He ordered to tell me that if I dared to show my face in Westerlands I’d be shaved as a whore and led by the streets of Lannisport, naked.”

“All right,” Tyrion said, “I give up, you win. Tell me what does our wonderful family want from me.”

Cersei smiled triumphantly and sat on the armchair.

“First of all you must find the kingslayer.”

That wasn’t what Tyrion expected at all. He thought she was going to ask for lands, money and high posts, not an unveiling of conspiracy.

“Why would our family need that?”

“A few days before the tourney my beloved husband promised to poison Viserys if anything happened to Aegon.”

“So that’s why he doesn’t eat and surrounds himself with guards!”

“Precisely. If in the next few days you don’t find a kingslayer that can’t be traced back to Viserys, he’ll either go mad from fear and you’ll have another Mad King on your hands, or Oberyn will poison him and you’ll have no king at all.”

 _Tough luck, Robb Stark_ , Tyrion thought. _Whether you are a conspirator or not, you’ll still have to pay for the broken pots, and the price might be your head._

“What else?” he said.

“Will you?..”

“What else?”

“All right. You must send Queen Daenerys to the Silent Sisters.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I didn’t say you must make _her_ a Silent Sister. Just let her live with them, or at some female septry, to mourn the King for a year or two.”

“And why on earth would our family need that?”

“Because Aegon didn’t get her with child, of course, but there are plenty men around who’d do the job for him.”

Tyrion gave her a disgusted look.

“Cersei, her husband was killed yesterday, in front of her, after two days of marriage, do you really believe that tomorrow she’d fuck some passerby? No all women are made like you.”

“When a crown is at stake, everyone is made like me, men and women alike. If she has a boy Viserys won’t be the King.”

“Do you know what I’d like to do? Take a troop of soldiers to Dany’s bedchambers and say to them, ‘Do whatever it takes but that woman must have a child in nine month’s time’. May the old gods and the new preserve us from the King Viserys.”

Cersei smiled mysteriously.

“You seem to forget that he has a son.”

“A bastard.”

“A bastard he acknowledged. A son of a lady from the House of Lannister. And if Viserys becomes the king, he’ll be able to legitimize Rhaegar, and then…”

“Please stop.”

 _You slept with him_ , Tyrion thought. _You fucked him when he was only fifteen, dragged him to your bed just because you’ve been promised Rhaegar once and you have a thing about Targaryens since then. But you slept with him, he fathered your child, and now you want to have him poisoned and talk about it so calmly as if you were ordering dinner._

“Is that all?’ he asked coldly.

“No. Also you must make whatever is in you power to keep Viserys’ betrothal to Sansa Stark valid.”

“I see. She is only eleven, she’ll flower in two years, she’ll be ready for marriage not earlier then in four, she’s no Daenerys, the northern maids take longer to mature, so Viserys will have no trueborn children in the next four years. I know it’s a silly question, but don’t you feel sorry for her at all?”

“And don’t you feel sorry to lose Arianne and Dorne at all?”

“Oh come on, Arianne would rather marry grayscale than him.”

Cersei gave him a pitying look.

“Put a crown on the grayscale and you’d be surprised how many women would race to the altar. Arianne agreed to marry you, didn’t she, so my sweet niece can’t be called squeamish.”

“Bitch.”

“Dwarf. Will you do what I told you?”

“Wait and see, sweet sister. Wait and see.”


	10. CATELYN

“Mother, is Sansa queen now?” Bran asked.

Catelyn had a strained smile. She didn’t manage to answer, it seemed to her that if she spoke she’d scream. The letter was burning her hand; she thought of hiding it in her bodice but was afraid that it’ll burn her heart.

She didn’t remember coming to the godswood, but when she found herself there she wasn’t surprised, wasn’t frightened, didn’t rush to the exit. The godswood was dark and quiet, it smelled of damp earth and musty leaves. Catelyn strolled slowly along the trees, patting rough coarse bark, drawing prickly boughs away form her face, touching scaly cones. The trees were whispering over her head. It seemed to her that with every step she was going deeper into the past, into the last time she had been here, that she was threading the same roods she had four years ago, that she was passing the same sentinel tree, skirting the same rotten tree-stump, which had sprouted pale skinny-legged mushrooms again, that when she’d see the weirwood she’d see there, by the cold black pond, her Ned, waiting.

There wasn’t anyone by the weirwood. Catelyn looked into the stern face carved into the bark, into the eyes that seemed to bleed tears. She came closer and sat on the grass. This was the spot where Theon’s blood had soaked into the ground four years ago…

She didn’t know how to pray to the old gods. In the sept she could ask Crone’s advice, she could borrow Warrior’s strength and Smith’s patience, she could beg Father for justice and Mother for mercy, she could light a candle in front of Maiden so she’d keep the girls from harm, and she could whisper to Stranger: “Not today. Wait a little bit longer.” But the old gods listened to no prayers and promised no help, they were only looking, sternly and indifferently.

Catelyn patted the new green grass at the tree roots. She wished to say, “Gods, you took the sacrifice my husband gave you, protect my children!”, but she didn’t dare because she feared to hear the answer: “The blood of other woman’s son was spilled here, your son will die far from home.”

‘No!” she cried, fell on the ground and wept.

She didn’t know how many hours she had spent lying under the weirwood. The sun wasn’t warming her back anymore, the ground grew cold and it seemed to Catelyn that she was already lying in her grave. _I’m still alive_ , she thought and rose. _I can still protect my children_.

As she was leaving the godswood, a rider came to the Hunter’s Gate. For a moment it seemed to Catelyn that it was Ned, but before she rushed to meet him the setting sun lighted his face.

“Jon Snow,” she said in lieu of greeting.

Jon dismounted and bowed. His white dog came to Catelyn and sniffed her hand gently.

“Ghost, come back!” Jon ordered. “Don’t be afraid, milady, he’s tame.”

“It’s a direwolf,” Catelyn said without a shadow of surprise.

“It is, milady. I found him in the woods, near the source of the Green Tooth. No one seems to know how a direwolf pup came to be so close to the Neck. Lady Catelyn, I’m sorry I came uninvited, I’ll go away at once if you tell me so…”

 _I asked the old gods for help and they sent me the bastard_ , Catelyn thought. _The gods are laughing at me. But Ned would be glad to know that I gave shelter to Jon Snow._

“You came at time for the dinner, Jon Snow”, she said. “Take you horse to the stables and then come and eat. We’ll talk afterwards.”

Jon ate very seriously and slowly, as if every bite was a puzzle he had to solve. Catelyn was looking at him and thinking that he looked awfully like Ned. They were probably having dinner at the Wall now, and Ned, dressed in black, was eating his beef and turnips in the same serious manner.

Two direwolves, the grey and the black, lay under the table. Jon and Bran threw them bones and pieces of meat in turns, and the beasts never fought over the fare, haven’t so much as growled at one another. From time to time Jon would bend and pat Summer and frown sadly. Once it even had seemed to Catelyn that he was close to tears.

After dinner he came to Catelyn and asked for a permission to speak to her in private.

 _He was up to some mischief at the Greywatch and he ran away_ , Catelyn thought. _Now he’ll ask that I don’t send him back to Lord Reed and I’ll have to play the evil stepmother._

“Milady, do you know what a warg is?’ Jon asked.

Catelyn gave him a puzzled look.

“It’s from some tale, I think. Old Nan used to tell children that the wildings can become wolves and bears, and those skinchangers are called wargs.”

“No, milady, a man can not become a beast, but some men can look with the beast’s eyes, feel what the beast feels, wear its skin while their own body lies prostrate. I think that I’m a warg, milady.”

_May the old gods and the new have mercy on us, he’s gone mad._

“You, Jon?”

“Yes, milady. At first I thought that those were just dreams, that I was having the same dream every night, but Jojen, Lord Reed’s son, taught me what that means. And lately I… forgive me, milady, if my words offend you, but lately I’ve begun to feel my brothers and sisters. Or, rather, their direwolves. I can’t look with their eyes, but sometimes at night we call to each other. Or used to call.”

“Used to,” repeated Catelyn without knowing why.

“Milady, please tell me, did you have a letter from Robb or Sansa recently? Is everything all right with them?”

Catelyn gave him the letter she’d received this morning, without saying a word.

Jon perused it several times, his frown becoming more pronounced.

“Sansa writes that Robb and Renly Baratheon kept their conspiracy against the King from her, but how did she find out about it? How can she be so sure?”

“Do you believe it Jon? Do you believe that Robb plotted against the King?”

Jon shook his head.

“I don’t, but I’m afraid he’s going to confess his guilt very soon.”

“Jon!”

“Milady, three days ago I felt how Robb’s direwolf was killed. He died defending his master. And today… today Sansa’s direwolf was killed.”

Catelyn pressed her hand to her mouth.

“But that can’t be true! Lady is the gentlest of the litter, she never bit anyone, never even growled, why would someone…”

“Tell me, milady, would Robb agree to calumny himself and others under torture?”

“Never. He’s Ned’s son, he’ll die before he does a dishonorable deed.”

“And if they bring Lady’s severed head to his cell and promise that tomorrow it will be Sansa’s head?”

Catelyn hid her face in her hands.

“I don’t know. Gods have mercy on me, I don’t know. Jon, how can that be? Sansa is betrothed to Price Viserys.”

“I don’t know, milady. I dream every night, Jojen says that those are green dreams, prophetic dreams, but I can’t interpret them.”

“What is it that you dream about, Jon?”

“I saw dead men rising from the frozen ground and attacking the living. I saw an iron dog leading a warrior maid through the dark forest. I saw the sea break its banks and flow over North, I saw a nameless horror rise from behind the Wall. I saw Sansa at the feast, snakes hissing in her hair. I saw Arya, she stood over the see and her face kept changing…”

“Arya!” Catelyn exclaimed. “Sansa never mentioned her. Jon, you told me that you can feel the direwolves, where is Nymeria? What has become of her?”

Jon stooped as if an unbearable burden was lying on his shoulders.

“Nymeria is in the woods, somewhere south. Arya is not with her.”


	11. DAENERYS

Daenerys’ mourning gown was embroidered with tear-shaped rubies. It seemed that she was slowly bleeding, drop by drop.

Elia who used to be so dark now looked faded, her face and hands seemed to be carved from old marble, yellowed with time. She looked small like a doll in her gigantic state bed where they laid her to die.

“It is you,” Oberyn said, lifting his gaze.

“Yes. Is she…”

“Not yet. You can say your goodbyes. She won’t hear you, but she might sense something. There’s been no one here all day long, you’re the first. Several days ago her chambers were swarmed with suppliants, and now no one needs her anymore.”

 _Nor me_ , Dany thought. She bent over the bed and took Elia’s narrow palm in her hands.

 _You’ve never loved me_ , she thought. _But you took care of me, taught me, showed me what it means to be queen. My reign was no longer then a tourney, but I might still become what you were, a queen regent in black robes ruling for her little son._

She remembered why she came, turned to Oberyn and took a small gold-plaited crystal phial from her bodice.

“Tell me, what is this?”

He took the cork out and carefully smelled the liquid inside.

“Moon tea. Where did you get this?”

“My servant brought me a herb potion, to help me sleep.”

Oberyn struck a fretted bedpost with his fist.

“Cersei! I’ll drown that bitch in a well and fill it up with stones!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m not, Tommen loves her for some reason, and how am I going to explain to him the reason I drowned his sweet mother?”

“Are you sure that’s her doing?”

“Quite. I’ve spent fifteen years married to that viper, after all.”

Naturally Overyn didn’t have Cersei drowned, he simply had her locked in her chambers. Now Ellaria Sand, his paramour, brought Dany food, water and news; Maidenvault that Dany hadn’t given to Viserys after all was guarded by Dornish knights, and Oberyn himself spent the nights on the threshold of her bedroom.

Aegon was buried in the Sept of Baelor. The heat was intolerable that day, the funeral knell seemed to be embedded in the hot viscous air. Dany was suffocating in her ceremonial mourning robes: a black high-necked dress with long sleeves falling almost to the ground, a transparent black veil, so long that it had to be carried by two knights in black armor, and a widow’s crown, an elegant diadem set with black diamonds. It seemed to that she’d never see any color other than black again.

Viserys, pale as if he was the one about to be interred, hugged her and began whispering incoherently that he loved her, has always loved her, only her, that they were alone now, only two of them, that he’d take good care of her, he’d promised Mother, oh, Dany, Dany… Dany petted his hair gently. She loved Viserys, but since the day he came back from Dragonstone she knew that he needed her more than she needed him. It was her husband’s body in the coffin in the middle of the Sept of Baelor, but Viserys wanted to be consoled and Dany gave him the consolation he needed.

Throughout the ceremony she didn’t shed a single tear.

The night after the funeral Dany woke up and heard someone talk behind the door of her bedroom. She rose from her bed, went barefooted to the door and listened.

“You don’t understand,” Viserys was saying. “She loves me, we were meant to marry, she must be mine.”

“Whatever your heart desires,” Oberyn answered. “When the mourning is through, ask her to marry you. Don’t force her door as if she were a tavern wench.”

“She must be mine. There was a prophecy, a Prince That Was Promised will come from our line. Rhaegar believed it was him, but Rhaegar is dead so it must be me. Me!”

“Go to sleep, prince.”

“The dragon has three heads, it’s a prophecy. Dany will be a mother of dragons. Let me come to her!”

“Would you like to spend your life wondering who had conceived the little dragon – you or the late king?”

A sound of struggle was heard from behind the door.

“Why don’t you go to Cersei,” Oberyn offered. “Here’s the key. She is longing for you.”

“Will you go with me?”

“I’ll keep you in my thoughts.”

Dany returned to bed and sadly thought that it seemed like she really had to marry Viserys. During the last few days people began to treat her like a precious box containing a dragon’s egg. She didn’t want to be a box, she wanted to be queen, but she needed a king for that. Elia had had little Aegon, but Elia had had no Targaryen elder brother. So Dany had to marry Viserys, love him, console him, tell him what a great king he was and imperceptibly rule in his place. Mother of the Dragon, indeed. She remembered Aegon, his hair, his arms, his clean breath, his smile, and sobbed for the first time.

The next day she put on her ceremonial mourning again, sat into her palanquin and went to the Sept of Baelor to assist at the judgment. She’d rather have the sentence to Robb Stark announced at the Great Hall, but that would mean deciding who’d sit on the Iron Throne, herself or Viserys.

On the steps of the Sept two identical thrones were put, one for the widowed queen and the other for the Prince Regent. Dany lowered herself on the red-black pillow and threw the veil back from her face. Robb Stark was barely standing – Dany knew that he had resisted arrest, his wolf tore the throats of three soldiers, Stark himself killed two more and gave up only when they shot four arrows in him. Sansa was holding him by the hand and whispering in his ear, smiling a fearful smile. The other Stark girl was not to be seen. Dany frowned slightly – she had forgotten about the Stark sisters, and it seemed she had been wrong.

“Robb Stark,” Viserys said arrogantly, “you stand accused of conspiring against the late King Aegon, the sixth of his name, and taking the said King life in a most heinous manner. What can you say in your defense?”

Stark knelt and began to talk. Dany wasn’t listening very attentively – she knew what he was going to say. She was only surprised that he didn’t mention Sansa’s name: everyone knew that Stark conspired against the King to make his sister queen. It was probably Tyrion who’d advised against saying it out loud, it was better not to mention that the person who profited the most from the King’s murder was Viserys.

Stark hung his head and went silent. Now it was Sansa’s turn – she knelt gracefully in front of Viserys and said in a piteous voice,

“Your Grace!” Dany startled and looked around, but nobody else moved a hair at that. “My brother is a criminal, but he is so young! He was fooled, he was given bad counsel, he would’ve never dared to plot against the lawful monarch. Remember that is wasn’t his hand that struck the traitorous blow to the King. I beg you for mercy, please, spare my brother, let him join the Night’s Watch and to redeem his fault by serving the realm.”

Dany nodded in approval. The girl was playing her role well, anyone would believe that she adored Viserys and doubted his decision. She’d probably make a passable queen herself, that was true. Dany thought that she needed to find a good husband for Sansa Stark; for example, Cersei’s eldest boy, the one who was going to inherit Westerlands, was of Sansa’s age…

Viserys rose from his throne.

“Lady Sansa, I cannot stay indifferent when youth and beauty kneel at my feet and beg me for mercy. My heart is torn with pity. But while I rule the Seven Kindgoms I cannot leave treachery unpunished. Ser Illyn, bring me his head.”

Sansa screamed. Ser Illyn grabbed Stark’s shoulder and reached for his sword. Tyrion pulled at Viserys’ sleeve and began explaining something to him, but Viserys brushed him aside disdainfully. The crowd yelled, “Death to the traitor!” Dany tore her black mourning veil off, threw it over Stark’s head and jumped from her throne.

“Ser Illyn, I’M STILL YOUR QUEEN!”

Illyn Paine kept his hand on the sword hilt, but the sword was still sheathed.

“It was my husband that was killed by Lord Stark’s fault. The vengeance in mine, and the mercy is mine as well. Robb Stark, I give you my permission to join the Night’s Watch. Take him away.”

The crowd yelled, “Long live our merciful queen!” It seemed the same voice that had demanded the death of the traitor.

When Dany returned to her palanquin Viserys looked inside, had a wry grin and slapped her.

For some reason he palanquin was carried not down towards the Guild of Alchemists, but to the right and then up. Dany called to the carriers, and when they didn’t answer she tried to open the curtains and found out they were fastened from outside. The palanquin was carried to some cool dark place. Dany snatched a sharp hairpin from her tresses and jabbed at the thick cloth of the curtains. She felt the smell of incense. Dany pulled the hairpin down, made a small narrow hole in the curtain, put her forefingers in it and jerked with all her might. The cloth crackled and gave way. Dany held the sides of the tear with both hands and pulled them apart. The palanquin was put on the ground, and something grey appeared through the tear: a septa’s cassock. The door of the palanquin was opened just as Dany tore the curtain in half.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” septa said as calmly as if the Queen was expected to tear the curtains like an ill-mannered cat. “I hope you are well.”

“Not exactly,” Dany said haughtily. “I’m usually unwell when I’m carried to unfamiliar places without my permission. Who are you and why are you not afraid of the wrath of the dragon?”

“I’m septa Ollaria, Your Grace. Your brother, Prince Viserys, is worried about your precious health, that’s why he ordered to have you moved to the Sept of Baelor. Here you’ll be able to pray for your late husband’s soul in peace, and, if gods are willing, to carry a healthy child to term. Don’t worry, Your Grace, we will not make you live the humble life of those who have relinquished this world, you will have everything fitting to the queen.”

“Except freedom.”

“Are the queens ever free?” septa asked without a trace of irony.

“And if I want to leave this place?”

“You will be prevented, Your Grace. In spite of the great rank the gods have bestowed on you, you are still a child, your elder brother takes greater care of your safety then you do yourself. Trust him, and you will do the will of gods. Would you like to rest and take some refreshments?”

Dany clenched her fists.

“Yes, I would. Bring me some oranges and hard-boiled eggs.”

She knew from Oberyn that a hard-boiled egg couldn’t be poisoned, and a skin of poisoned orange, when peeled, held puncture marks. If septa was surprised by that original diet, she didn’t let it show.

“And tell Oberyn Martell I wish to see him.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but men are forbidden from visiting us.”

“Are they? Then I’d like to see Ellaria Sand.”

Septa shook her cheeks indignantly.

“Never a wanton woman will enter these saintly walls!”

“I hope you have nothing to object against Princess Arianne Martell, at least?”

Arianne wasn’t better behaved then Ellaria, but she was much better born, and Dany had her chance to notice that gods (or septons) forgave the sins of princes and princesses easier then those of smallfolk.

“No, Your Grace. I shall send for her immediately.”

‘Immediately’ lasted till the next evening, and then it wasn’t Arianne but the same septa Ollaria who appeared in front of Dany.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but Princess Arianne is unwell. She promised to pray for you.”

Dany bit her lip. She wanted to call Elia, whom she had never loved and who had never loved her, but the only call Elia could answer now was that of Stranger.

“In that case, I want to see Lord Varys.”

“But, Your Grace, no man…”

“Varys is not a man, he is a eunuch.”

It looked like that delicate question was submitted for consideration of the High Septon, and Varys came only the next day, when the Sept of Baelor was full of funeral knell.

“Princess Elia is dead,” he said instead of greeting.

“Gods rest her soul. Help me to get out of here.”

“It’s impossible, Your Grace.”

“Impossible?”

“Lord Tyrion Lannister believes that only here you are safe from his sister. Lady Cersei is sure that only here you won’t be able to conceive a child with some servant and pretend it’s the King’s heir. The Small Council fears your influence over Prince Viserys. Princess Arianne wants to be queen. And Prince himself is insulted that you dared to contradict him in public. You’ve made a great mistake, Your Grace, when you didn’t allow Lord Stark to be executed.”

“If that is your opinion, then I called you in vain. Stark is not just the Warden of the North, he is also the grandson of Lord Hoster Tully, the ruler of Riverlands. Stormlands are dangerously close to the capital, but the fleet of Arbor will lock Renly at the Storms’ End, as it did with his brother, and will keep him there till Renly dies of hunger like his brother did. But if, like fifteen years ago, three kingdoms out of seven were to rebel against us, the war will be long, and the summer is at its end. The execution of Stark lacked foresight.”

Varys bowed.

“I’m not saying that you were wrong, Your Grace, I’m saying that you’ve made a mistake. You showed Prince Viserys that you were stronger then him, showed it in public. He’ll never forgive you.”

“Viserys is my brother, he loves me,” Dany said with an assurance she didn’t feel.

“King Aegon, the second of his name, also was the brother of Princess Rhaenyra, that didn’t prevent him from feeding his sister to his dragon. Luckily for you and for the Seven Kingdoms the dragons are extinct, but while your brother is Prince and you are Queen, you are in the same danger that Rhaenyra used to be. Trust me, you’d better stay where you are.”

“No. I’m the Queen of Westeros, Lord Varys, it’s not just a privilege but an enormous duty as well. I can’t sit behind locked doors, tremble and pray when my realm needs me.”

“Your realm needs peace.”

“Which it won’t get if Viserys keep doing whatever he wants.”

“And who will prevent him, Your Grace? You? No one will support you. Tyrion Lannister could’ve been on your side, but unfortunately his sister is the Prince’s mistress.”

Dany stared at him.

“What side are _you_ on, Lord Varys?”

“I’m always on the side of the realm, Your Grace. But…”

“But?”

“I could give you a hint as to where you can find support.”

 _Far away, in the Old Valyria, there is a deep cave, and inside that cave grows a tall tree, and from the highest bough of that tree hangs a chest, and in that chest…_ Dany thought.

“I’m all ears,” she said.

“Your brother and you are the only Targaryens in Westeros. But across the Narrow Sea, in the Free Cities, there are others.”

“Blackfyres.”

“Yes. My friend, Illyrio Mopatis, used to be married to the maid from that house. Unfortunately, she died, but her son lives. A wonderful young man, brave, learned… the splitting image of the late King…”

Dany smirked. Some good of the realm.

“Your friend, Mopatis, he…”

“The richest man in the Free Cities.”

“All right, I’ll think about your proposal.”

Dany was going to do no such thing. Son of a merchant from the Free Cities and a maid from the house of royal bastards! She used to be the wife of a king!

She called every woman she knew – none came. She asked to tell Viserys that she missed him – he asked to tell her that he was very busy. She wrote to all the members of the Small Council, to all the heads of the Great Houses and to some of the richest and most powerful lords. None answered. And one morning when septa brought her the food to break her fast Dany realized that she’d rather take poison then eat another hard-boiled egg. She asked Varys to come again.


	12. BRIENNE

“Wake up, lazy bastard!”

A boot hit her in the ribs. Even before she had time to wake up properly Brienne rolled over the straw and the next blow missed her.

“Sleeping, you brute? Who’s gonna rub down my horse, eh?”

Brienne mumbled fearfully, jumped up, snatched a brush and began rubbing Stranger down. He gave a warning snort. The stallion had ceased his attempts on Brienne’s life after Sandor had hit him on the head several times, but he was always ready to drop a hint or two that things could change any moment. Brienne had never been afraid of destriers before, despite there huge size and evil temper – they were a knight’s weapon, like sword and spear, and weapons never scared her. But Stranger resembled a magical sword from old tales – he abhorred woman’s touch and demanded a bowl of fresh blood every day.

Being a mute stable-boy held one attraction to Brienne – she didn’t have to talk. The rest was terrible: her breasts, tightly bandaged with cloth, hurt, she couldn’t wash, she was afraid to drink a cup of water (the very first day Sandor showed her how to make water standing up, but still Brienne would feel like dying of shame and terror of disclosure), and also Sandor, for the sake of credibility, blackened her eye, almost tore her left ear off and covered her with bruises. But the worst was the thought that she had killed the King and let Renly down.

“You must be off,” Sandor whispered raspily. “This castle is full of people who have fuck-all to do, sooner or later they’ll sniff you out. Lord Stark admitted that he and Renly Baratheon were in conspiracy and that you killed the King by their orders.”

Brienne gasped.

“How could he, it’s not true!”

“Fool. If they threaten you with fire you’ll say that and way more.”

“I’ll never betray Renly, even under torture.”

“Double fool. No one will be searching for you in Riverlands, they all think you escaped to Storm’s End. You’ll take a boat to Saltpans, and from there you’ll take a ship to Braavos. I’ll give you money. Don’t make that face! I’ll give you money, I said, I won forty thousand at that tourney, another five hundred of ransom, and Merreth Frey promised to give a good dowry to his cow.”

“Thank you,” Brienne whispered. “But I can’t leave Renly and run to Braavos. I must go to Storm’s End, and…”

“And make sure everyone believes it was Renly who hired you. If he’s not a complete dimwit he’ll have you slaughtered before you have a chance to open that big mouth of yours.”

Someone giggled softly behind their backs. Brienne turned around in terror. A small, round-faced, monstrously fat girl was looking into the stall.

“Are you Kingslayer?” she asked in a squeaky voice.

Before Brienne had a chance to say anything Sandor put his dagger to the fat girl’s throat.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll cut your throat and say you were born that way.”

Brienne’s knees turned to water. She grabbed Stranger’s mane and he immediately bit her shoulder in revenge.

“Is she your whore?” the fat girl asked in a piercing whisper. “She has no teats _at all_.”

Sandor moved his dagger an inch away from her throat.

“Are you jealous, or what?”

“Pff, like I cared,” the fat girl answered hauntingly and giggled again. Brienne realized that it was Merreth Frey’s daughter that Sandor was going to marry.

“I’m not his whore,” she said, “I was in trouble and your betrothed saved me like a true knight should”.

If the true knight didn’t have his dagger at his betrothed throat this speech would’ve been far more convincing.

“Kingslayer,” the Frey girl repeated in awe. There wasn’t a trace of resentment in her voice as if the late King had been a hart or a boar that Brienne had hunted down.

“Don’t call me that,” Brienne asked helplessly.

“Everyone calls you that, Brienne the Kingslayer. Ami said you are what’s-that-called that beds men for money, that’s why you always hide in the stall when she comes to the stables at night.”

Brienne remembered what passed in the stables at night and modestly looked at the floor.

“So your servant knows I’m a woman as well?”

The girl giggled again.

“Ami is my sister, and she doesn’t think you’re a woman, she thinks you’re a man.”

“Sister?” Brienne repeated dumbfound. “Your sister, grand-daughter to Lord Frey, comes to the stables at night and tells you about it?”

“Shut up, both of you!” Sandor snapped. “Lady Walda, did your sister tell anyone else that my stable-boy doesn’t look at women?”

“She told everyone,” Lady Walda imparted happily. “Only no one believed her because everyone knows that you bedded her and then refused to wed.”

Brienne leaned against the wall so as not to fall.

“I bedded her because I’m not a eunuch to chase a naked wench from under my blanket,” Sandor explained. “And I refused to wed her because I don’t want to guess which of my stable-boys is the father of my heir. Listen, Lady Walda, you don’t want to marry me, right?”

“’Course I do.”

“Are you mad or what?”

“Our grandfather has four unwed daughters, fourteen granddaughters and five great-grand-daughters. Do you know who married Ami? A _hedge knight_. And you have your own castle in Westerlands and neither brothers nor sisters, neither elder nor younger.”

“Aren’t you frightened by this?” Sandor bent over her so that his burned cheek was right in front of her eyes.

“Aren’t _you_ frightened by this?” Walda slapped her fat behind.

“A fine thing to fear, an ass is an ass.”

“Well, scars are just scars. Ami says that at night all cats are grey, and that you can do you-know-what four times a night. Can you?”

“You’ll find out after the wedding. So, if you wag your tongue about my stable-boy being Brienne the Kingslayer, then I won’t marry you, understand?”

“Understand. Will you give me that star the queen gave you?”

Sandor sheathed his dagger.

“Of course I will, I won’t wear diamonds myself, right?”

Walda smiled triumphantly and went out of the stall, sparing a pitying look to Brienne who had neither a betrothed with his own castle, nor a diamond star, nor even teats.

“Mayhaps I’m the one who should be running to Braavos,” Sandor mused looking after her.

Brienne took a deep breath.

“I won’t go to Braavos,” she said firmly.

“Fool.”

“I’ll go North.”

“What did you forget there?”

“Lord Stark lost his freedom and his honor because of me. I shall put my sword at Lady Stark’s feet and ask for a permission to serve her.”

Sandor gave her a wondering look.

“You will have to row upstream. You’ll be eaten by lizard lions at the Neck. And then Lady Stark will order to cut your head off. And then I’ll finally be rid of you.”


	13. SANSA

The queen was dead and the air itself seemed to be flowing with tears.

Sansa had never noticed before how much people changed after they died. A pale face crowned by a silver diadem could belong to anyone. The real Daenerys was gone, it was only her mortal shell in the ebony coffin, covered by red and black roses as if by a coverlet. Daenerys Targaryen, the flower of Westros, was leaving in flowers.

Sansa bent over the coffin and kissed the small cold hand. The Queen had saved Robb. Were she alive she’d protect Sansa as well.

“Are you crying?” Viserys asked.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.”

Sansa made a deep curtsey and went aside, to the place where Myrcella Martell was standing.

All the children of Prince Oberyn and Lady Cersei were fair, the arrogant gold-haired Joffrey and the swarthy grey-eyed Tommen, but it was Myrcella who had inherited both her parents beauty. From Martells she got thick pitch-black curls and black eyelashes that looked like butterfly’s wings, but the eyes under those eyelashes were emerald green, the snow white skin had such glow as if there was not blood but Lannister gold flowing under it, and the elegant nose and high cheekbones seemed copied from Cersei’s face. Robb used to say that Myrcella was the fairest maid at court, even more beautiful then the Queen herself – a thousand years ago, when the Queen had been still alive, Robb wasn’t exiled to the Wall and hadn’t given a celibacy vow, and Sansa had believed that the world was beautiful and people were kind.

“Just like a song, isn’t it?” Myrsella whispered. “The king died and his mother and his wife both pined with grief.”

“Yes,” Sansa answered sadly, “just like a song.”

Myrcella took her by the hand and Sansa pulled down her sleeve quickly to hide a yellow and violet bruise on her wrist.

“Rhaedar pinches like a goose,” Myrcella said with a smirk. “What a boy! When Joffrey was his age he used to bite as well.”

Sansa gave no answer to that. Rhaegar Sand pinched her hand when she beat him at cyvasse. After she told his gently that true knights didn’t behave like that, he pinched her again and kicked her in the ankle as well. Sansa sternly told him to stop, he tried to bite her arm, and then she grew angry and spanked him. Rhaegar called her some horrible names that an eight-year-old boy shouldn’t have known to begin with and ran away. He came back with Viserys who grabbed Sansa by the hand, took his sword and said that a person of royal blood was sacred and that any man or woman who dared to strike a king’s son must lose an arm for such impertinence. Sansa burst into tears and begged for forgiveness. Viserys cut her sleeve and drew blood from her arm several times, but at last he believed that she was repentant and wouldn’t repeat her offence. He called Rhaegar and ordered him to strike Sansa. Rhaegar hit her in the mouth with his fist, hit her in the stomach and then began beating her with his hands and feet, and Sansa flattened herself against the wall and sobbed.

“I’ll tell him to stop,” Myrcella said. “You might marry him one day, he shouldn’t pester you. If you marry, we’ll be sisters, you and I.”

“I won’t marry Rhaegar, he’s a bastard”, Sansa answered indignantly. She looked around fearfully but it seemed that no one had noticed her outburst. She was not to speak about Rhaegar like that, she was not to object, but she was a Stark from Winterfell, no one dared to marry her to some... Sand!

Myrcella shrugged.

“At Dorne we don’t despise bastards like you do at the North. Arianne wanted to marry the Bastard of Godsgrace, only Prince Doran didn’t let her.”

“You see.”

“Because he believed that Arianne would marry Prince Viserys. She still might: Arianne is older then you, and she has royal blood.”

Sansa wished the marriage to Viserys on no one; to Viserys who had ordered Lady killed to frighten Robb and who had wanted to kill Robb himself, even though he had promised to be merciful if Sansa did was she was told to do.

“Isn’t Arianne to marry the new Hand?”

Myrcella shrugged again.

“It’s better to be queen then the Hand’s wife, isn’t it?”

 _Not when Viserys is the King_ , Sansa thought.

“Mother says that Uncle Tyrion might marry you instead of Arianne and get North instead of Dorne,” Myrcella went on. “Then you’ll be my aunt. At least Uncle Tyrion doesn’t pinch, or bite.”

 _He’s a dwarf_ , Sansa thought.

“The North belongs to my brother Bran,” she said. “No one will get the North.”

“But you are older then him.”

“But I am a maid.”

“I think that is unfair,” Myrcella said. “In Dorne it is the elder child who inherits. Arianne is a maid as well, and she has two brothers, but it will be she who will get Dorne one day because she is the eldest. You are not worse then your younger brother, why should you your rightful inheritance be taken away from you?”

 _If you try to take the North from Bran, the North will rise_ , Sansa thought. _No man north of the Neck will let Winterfell be taken from Starks and given to a dwarf or a royal bastard._

She noticed Viserys looking at her and lowered her head guiltily. She wasn’t allowed to talk to other people when not in Viserys’ hearing. Not that there were many people in the Red Keep wishing to talk to Sansa – everyone shied from her as if she had grayscale – but she wasn’t allowed to exchange a few words even with Uncle Benjen. Lord Baelish, Master of Coins, joked that it was a sign of great favor: Lady Sansa was the only lady at court whose attention the King wished to have so completely, neither Princess Arianne nor Lady Cersei had such honors. Sansa never knew whether Lord Baelish was joking or not.

Viserys paid her no heed till the end of the funeral, but after they came back to the Red Keep he expressed a wish that Sansa accompany him during a garden walk. She expected him to enquire about what she and Myrcella were whispering about, but instead of that he asked,

“Did you go to the godswood yesterday?”

“Yes, Your Grace,”

“Why?”

“To pray for the late queen, You Grace. She was kind to me and merciful to my poor brother.”

“I forbid you. You’re a future queen, and you pray to the trees like a wilding.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Sansa said reluctantly. She never used to go to godswood at Winterfell, it was a dark and scary place where Father had executed Theon. But the godswood at the Red Keep was the only place where she could be alone and think of home.

“So you loved my sister?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And what about _your_ sister, where is she?”

Sansa looked him straight in the eye.

“I think she is dead, Your Grace.”

“Do you?”

“She is only nine, Your Grace, she has neither friends nor even acquaintances south of the Neck. How could such a small child hide from the City Watch for so long? She cannot be alive.”

Viserys took her by the chin.

“You don’t look too sad.”

“My sister and I had no love for each other. She was a wild, unruly, ill-mannered girl. May the gods rest her soul.”

Viserys patted her cheek condescendingly.

“You are no dragon, but you are not as stupid as Cersei believes, either. I’ll sent you Daenerys’ jewels, wear the ruby necklace for the coronation.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

 _Arya escaped with Nymeria_ , Sansa thought. _My Lady never bit anyone, she was gentle and obedient, but Nymeria will kill anyone who dares to harm Arya._

Viserys was gentle to her all day and even ordered that she sat at his right at the funeral dinner – she hadn’t done it since the day the King died. It was a sad dinner, quite unlike the recent wedding feast, no one showed magic tricks, danced, joked or sang ribald songs, only a bard was sadly playing ballads about unhappy lovers and dead maidens fair. The dessert was blueberry tarts and large dark-violet, almost black plums, and there was no big cake at all.

After the dinner Lady Cersei went to Sansa and embraced her waist gently.

“Well, my sweet, do you hope to be the queen?” she asked tenderly.

“If His Grace wishes so.”

Cersei laughed.

“And what if His Grace wishes to cut your empty little head off?”

“King Viserys is just and merciful, he would never do such a thing.”

Cersei patted Sansa’s head gently.

“Oh, you little dove. You were wrong to come to the capital, you should’ve stayed at your North, marry some bearded northerner and rule his tiny castle, that would be just the task for your bird brain. You’ll never make a true queen.”

 _Princess Elia was kind to me_ , Sansa thought. _Queen Daenerys didn’t let Robb to be executed. They were the real queens, not like you, royal whore._

“What are you talking about?” Viserys cried anxiously.

Sansa turned to him, curtseyed and answered:

“We were saying how just and merciful you are, Your Grace.”


	14. DAENERYS

“Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar. Quicksilver, Syrax, Seasmoke, Tyraxes, Vermax…”

“No. Vermax drowned in Blackwater Bay, his scull is not at the hall, you mixed him up with Arrax.”

“And no wonder. How come you don’t mix up all those Syraxes, Vermaxes and Arraxes?”

“How come you don’t mix up your forefinger and ring-finger? Dragons are our history, our heritage, their blood is in our veins. Dragons are us and we are dragons.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in this.”

“What I believe is not important. What is important is that from the day your wet-nurse first brought you into the Great Hall you have seen those sculls and heard their names every day. You know them as well as my face and better then your own because you rarely look at the mirror.”

“You are a bore. Bald bore.”

“I shall ignore these words, unworthy of a king, a knight and a man. Tell me how will you go to the godswood from Maegors’ Holdfast.”

“I won’t go to the godswood, Targaryens don’t worship old gods. The sept where I will go from Maegor’s Holdfast is in the western yard, I can go down to it by the stairs. Before we were wed I’d go to Maidenvault first so you could keep me company”.

“Good boy. What is the price of a good working horse?”

“You are joking, right?”

“Elia used to say that you were the future master of Westeros, and a good master knows the price of every thing in his household. Thousand stags at the beginning of spring, four hundred in the middle of winter, explain the difference in prices.”

“Because in spring you need horses to plough, and in winter they eat hay and grain in vain.”

“What was I wearing at our wedding?”

“Why do you never call me by my name?”

 _Because it isn’t yours_ , Daenerys nearly answered. In fact, it _was_ his name, Aegon Mopatis. Blackfyres often called their sons Aegon in honor of the founder of the house, or Daemon, in memory of the Black Dragon. Girls were called Daena, in honor of Black Dragon’s mother, and Daenerys, in memory of the princess he loved. The name of Black dragon’s wife, mother of his seven children, was not remembered.

If Illyrio’s son was called Will, or Pate, or Ollario, Dany probably would’ve been able to say: “I name thy Aegon” and call him only that thenceforth. As he was called Aegon she believed him an impostor and wouldn’t call him by the name of her late husband. Which was especially stupid considering that she was teaching him to become exactly that – a successful impostor.

“What was I wearing at our wedding?” she repeated.

“No idea.”

“Right. You never pay attention to what you or those around you wear.”

“By the way, what _were_ you wearing? Something transparent, I gather?”

Dany sighed.

“If I repeated it once, I repeated it a hundred times – I won’t bed you. Especially in the middle of the lesson.”

“The loss is yours, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it. How is house Frey related to other houses?”

“Are you mocking me? To house Royce by the first marriage. To house Swann by the second marriage. To house Crakehall by the third…”

They had lessons till dinner. Before she went down to the dining hall Dany glanced at herself in the mirror. As usual she saw a stranger there: a boy or a girl with a round head covered with silver stubble. Before dressing her in a cassock and taking her out of Sept of Baelor they had shaved her head like a novice’s.

“Bald bore,” Dany said in an undertone, put out her tongue to the mirror and went to dine.

There were two more people at the table save her and Aegon: the master of the manse, Illyrio Mopatis, so monstrously fat that it seemed that he was about to overflow from his armchair like rising batter, and Ser Jorah Mormont, a former Westerosi knight, now a sellsword and guard of the King.

“I have some news from King’s Landing,” Illyrio told her as soon as they sat at the table. “You are dead and buried.”

Dany shuddered.

“So soon?”

“Alas. Arianne Martell is still trying to choose between the King and his Hand, and in an attempt to win the Hand over she went to the Sept of Baelor to see you, which made hiding your disappearance impossible, to my great regret. Varys tried to convince the Small Council to keep the thing quiet, but Tyrion Lannister insisted on the public funeral. Now both of you will have to come from the dead.”

“Public funeral? But what about... the body?”

“The buried some Lyseni whore. I heard that experienced embalmers can perform miracles.”

Dany thought that before being buried that unknown girl had been killed. Honeyed duck seemed to her fatty and cloyingly sweet.

“You need a Westerosi cook, Magister Illyrio,” she said.

“Do you find the food in my house inadequate, Your Grace?”

“Your cook is a great master, Magister, but he cooks Pentosi dishes…”

“.. which you are not accustomed to. Of course, how uncivil of me,”

“Oh no, Magister, trust me, I’m far from fastidious and Pentosi food is exquisite, it’s a pity that those dishes rarely grace the royal table. And that’s the point. The king must get accustomed to the food he had all his life, to its look, taste, smell, to the manner of eating it…”

“And my table manners are also wrong, naturally,” Aegon mumbled.

“She’s right,” Ser Jorah interrupted. “The bread at the Seven Kingdoms is different, it’s not flat but leaven, and a lord breaks his fast with fresh butter and gruel, bacon and fried mushrooms, not with three sorts of olives.”

Dany smiled.

“If it’s the King who breaks his fast, he’d have olives, and fiery peppers, and chickpeas paste, and flatbread – Elia accustomed Aegon to Dornish food. But only in the morning, when they used to break their fast together, at feasts he would never show that he preferred the fare of one kingdom to the others.”

“Princess Elia was a wise woman, gods rest her soul,” Illyrio said softly.

Dany took her spoon silently and began to eat chicken soup with lemon and egg. It dawned on her suddenly that she barely knew the realm she was going to rule. She had left the capital only to go to the Summerhall, to Dragonstone and to the royal hunt in the Kingswood, of all the castles belonging to her subjects she had seen only Storm’s End, Bronzegate and High Tide, a piece of Stormlands and an island at the Blackwater Bay. Bear Island, the seat of House Mormont, was as foreign to her as the distant Asshai. _Leaven bread and fresh butter_ , she thought, _bacon and fried mushrooms… And bears…_ After dinner she took Mormont aside and asked him,

“Ser Jorah, tell me about the North.”

She often asked him to tell her about something: Robert’s Rebellion (at first he muttered reluctantly, “I fought against your father, Your Grace”, but she asked him to go on all the same), Greyjoy Rebellion, the Tourney at Lannisport… This lord from a small island at the end of the world had seen more of Westeros then she did.

“Frozen Shore is the place where windings live… They herd deer instead of cows and harness huge dogs to their sleighs instead of horses…”


	15. Illustrations

Illustrations by **wolverrain** , the joy of my heart.

[](http://wolverrain.deviantart.com/art/Red-and-Black-505762620)  
Red and Black by [wolverrain](http://wolverrain.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

[  
Princess](http://wolverrain.deviantart.com/art/Princess-505763459) by [wolverrain](http://wolverrain.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)


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